


to become

by summoner_yuna_of_besaid



Series: to become [1]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Family, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2018-05-12 23:00:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 87,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5684467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summoner_yuna_of_besaid/pseuds/summoner_yuna_of_besaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fifteen year old Cloud Strife falls through a hole in the old Shinra Mansion, and makes a very strange friend.  Vincent Valentine is a lonely, weary soul, whose tragic tale comes to Cloud over a period of years.</p>
<p>When he finally pieces it all together - when he realizes the truth that even Vincent won't see - Cloud makes it his mission to reunite a broken family.  Sons deserve to know their fathers after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Childhood

### :: to  become :: 

  
_ It is much easier to become a father than to be one. _

  — Kent Nerburn

* * *

 

It’s a foolish thing he does, going back to the lab. As a Turk he should have known better. As a man, he could do nothing else. Vincent knows Hojo perceives him as an annoyance, as some gnat to be squashed, but he underestimated the man’s malevolence. Or, overestimated Lucrecia’s kindness.

He returns to the lab.

Under one arm is a bouquet of flowers, the other, a box wrapped in teal paper with little rubber ducks spread across it. A peace offering, as well as a sincere gesture. He’s said what he could against the experiment – it’s appalling and even thinking about it has him gripping the roses tight enough to feel the thorns dig into his gloves – but there’s no stopping them. He has no legal rights in the situation. He can’t make them stop, short of kidnapping the damn woman which he won’t do. Vincent Valentine would like to think he’s a half-decent man, Shinra Turk or no.

But the child, the poor thing, the child is going to live (it has to live), and when it’s born, it’ll need care. It’ll need love. Love it certainly won’t get from Dr. Hojo. Vincent scoffs at the idea. He’s halfway to the lab, pulling the proper book before the stairway, letting the door creak open before heading down.

He can’t stop them, but he can at least be there for the kid through this whole damn mess. Vincent knows what it is to not have a father. He can barely imagine what growing up with one like Hojo would be. He’s going to do his best to offset the damage, however he can. Hojo might fight him, but Lucrecia will be on his side, he’s sure.

“Dr. Crescent?” He enters the lab to find it strangely empty. He sets the roses down, keeping the present with him. “Dr. Crescent?” Could she be off at lunch? The woman kept a rigid schedule; Vincent found it hard to believe she would suddenly…

He doesn’t hear the shot. Silencer. Somehow, the silence manages to echo in his ears like a shrill scream, like white noise filling his mind as the blood fills his lungs. Trembling knees collapse beneath him as he struggles for his weapon on his belt. Another shot, and this time Vincent screams as it tears through his gut. He collapses forward, throws his arm out to try and catch himself. The present falls from limp fingers, sliding forward with the momentum underneath one of the pieces of lab equipment nearby.

Vincent can’t move. Everything hurts, even as feeling seeps away and vision blurs, haggard breaths growing further and further apart. The man’s shoes move into his line of sight, and he can barely hear him laughing. Laughing… of course… because he’s won. Hojo has won, the child’s life is his now, and Vincent succumbs to darkness with one desperate, somber plea.

_Lucrecia’s child… Sephiroth… I’m so sorry…_

 

* * *

  
Cloud Strife has been called many things in his life.

He’s been called an idiot, a bastard, a loser, a brat… (and one of those was his Mother). Most days, he had a hard time not believing these things were true. They seemed true. A lot of people believed it. So who was he to say they were wrong?

But today, he feels so sure of himself, so assured that everyone else is wrong, that it’s like he’s on top of the world. Because today, Gracie Dixon had called him a coward, and he had stomped up to her face and said, no he wasn’t, and he’d prove it, to her and everybody else.

Standing on the first floor of the Shinra Mansion, actually inside it, he feels like he really is the bravest person in the world.

Of course, he’s not going any further. He’s not stupid (not about this, at least.) That would be suicide. Everyone in Nibelheim knows the mansion is abandoned for a reason and all sorts of nasty leftover shit from Shinra is inside it.

But hey, he’s brave enough to at least go inside.

Satisfied that he’s proven himself, Cloud turns to walk back out at a very brisk pace… only to find the way barred by creatures that look decidedly unhappy with his presence there.

The boy falters, horrified, stepping back as quickly as he’d walked forward. Apparently leaving by the front door is no longer an option. But…

Can he really go further inside?

Cloud doesn’t get much of a choice; the first beast lunges and he gives a scream, barreling off to anywhere-but-here, deeper into the mansion.

* * *

 

  
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Cloud mutters to himself, one hand trailing along the nearest wall. “Stupid. Ma always says, don’t do things outta pride, and what’d you do?” He keeps mumbling to himself as he walks through pure darkness, led only by the dim beams of light coming through the cracks in the ceiling.

He is not crying, he just – has allergies, and that’s why his eyes are red and watery and he can’t stop sniffling. Cloud stumbles in the dark and bites back a scream, clamping a hand over his mouth. The last time, he’d made so much noises that bats had come out of nowhere and attacked him, and scraped him up pretty bad before he managed to scare them off with a broken off piece of the floorboards.

It’s been at least an hour since he first got lost in this place, and with each step forward Cloud feels his heart thudding in his throat. There had to be a way out somewhere… there had to be…

In the dark, it was hard to see where he was going. Which was why Cloud stepped forward onto nothing and fell with a horrid scream through the floor, down, down, down, into the basement level.

It might damn near have killed him; if his constant noise in the building hadn’t already awoken everything in the Mansion… and everyone.

* * *

 

  
When he finally stops screaming, Cloud realizes he isn’t falling anymore – and that he hasn’t hit the ground at all. In fact, he’s being – held. Held in stiff, cold arms, but held all the same.

Around the same time, he hears a voice, deep, soothing, powerful. “Are you alright?”

Cloud blinks through the tears. Rubbing at his eyes, the fifteen year old looks up to see the brightest eyes he’s ever seen. They’re ruby red, and framed by messy, unkempt ebony hair. He blinks, confused for a moment. “You’re pretty creepy looking for an angel.”

The man blinks. “… angel?”

“Yeah,” The boy mumbles. “Or am I in the other place?”

“… what? No,” The man shakes his head. “You aren’t dead.”

“I’m not?” Stunned, the boy sits up so fast, he almost beams the stranger in the head. Glancing around, all Cloud can see are dreary grey walls, and lines of coffins. “… are you sure?”

“Yes, I am sure.” The stranger almost smiles, lips pressing together as if in an effort to hide it. “Though, you do seem to be injured.”

Cloud looks down. Yeah, he had gotten a bit scraped up. His jeans are torn to ribbons, and he curses at the sight. “Ma’s gonna kill me.” As if she wasn’t already. He’s at least half an hour past curfew by now.

The stranger moves; Cloud’s gaze drifts towards him. It occurs to him that maybe he should be more wary of the weird, blood-eyed man in the haunted mansion’s basement, but there’s something… calming about him. Comforting. He’s kneeling, which puts him almost at Cloud’s height, his gaze downturned, a gentle hand running over the boy’s injuries.

“Nothing major,” He finally says. “Though you will want to clean them out when you go home.” Then, he lowers his arm, as if that is all, and stands. Cloud watches the man unfold into a towering six foot giant, all limbs and bone, before he turns to walk away.

Cloud blinks. The stranger keeps walking. He moves to one of the coffins, opens it, slides inside, and closes the door. That is it. Cloud blinks again.

… That’s it?

“Excuse me?” The boy starts, stepping forward. He winces a bit with the pain, but it’s nothing major, just stings and scratches. “Excuse me!” He comes to the coffin and raps on the top with his knuckles. “Sir.” Tap, tap, tap. “Excuse me, sir?” Tap, tap, tap. “Are you still in there?” Tap, tap –

The door opens, and Cloud almost hits the man in the nose. “Sorry,” He jumps back. The stranger looks only slightly miffed, saying nothing, merely lifting an eyebrow questioningly.

Cloud opens his mouth to speak – then stops. He has no idea how to start. There are so many questions on his mind right now he can’t get a single one out. Like, who the hell is this guy, what’s with his eyes, why is he apparently living in the Mansion basement, and why the hell is he sleeping in a coffin?

“What’s your name?” Cloud finally picks. The man blinks slowly.

“Vincent,” He says finally. “Vincent Valentine.”

* * *

 

  
Vincent Valentine is a quiet, taciturn man. That day, the only question Cloud could get him to answer was that first one. It took coming back, time and time again, to get answers to more of them.

The town thought he was crazy – but then, they’d never liked him anyway. His mother had been very upset the first night, when he’d disappeared for two hours, but the times after, she’d been surprisingly alright with it. Of course, she’d given him her old materia bracer and a light sword to go with it, just in case.

“Adventure is part of every young kid’s life,” She told him. “Just – don’t go runnin’ off half-cocked on me okay?”

Cloud nods vehemently, beaming with pride at his new accessories. “Sure thing ma!”

And so Cloud Strife becomes something of a fixture at the Shinra Mansion… to Vincent Valentine’s great annoyance.

“It is not safe here.” The man says for the thousandth time when Cloud returns later that week. It’s only been a few days, but Cloud can already safely say that the quiet man is a closer friend to him than anyone else in town.

“It’s not that bad!” The boy insists. “I’ve gotten pretty good at getting through anyway.” Most of the monsters gave up when their “easy prey” turned out to not be so easy, and as long as he didn’t dig too deep into the other levels, he was fine. The area with Vincent was cleaned out good.

The man shook his head, sitting on the closed coffin, as always. “I do not understand your motivation.”

Cloud blinks. He’s sitting cross legged on another coffin – _don’t think about it don’t think about it_ – staring at the other. “Really? You don’t get why I might be curious about the mystery guy who saved my life? Come on!” Cloud chuckles a little. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here, or where you came from –“

“You are a peculiar child.” Vincent says, but unlike most people, the comment seems… friendly. Cloud just shrugs.

“So?”

Vincent glances away. “I am a prisoner here.” He finally says. “That is all.”

“Wait…” Confused, Cloud’s brow furrows. “How so?”

Vincent points up. On the ceiling are these weaving lines of what looks like the same shiny stuff Materia is made of. Mako, right? “There is a spell in place in this building, keeping me here. In this room, specifically.” That’s right – Cloud had never seen Vincent outside the little coffin-filled room in the basement. He’d only found the man by falling into the room through the hole in the ceiling.

“So… you can’t leave? Ever?” Vincent shakes his head. “That’s… awful.” The man just shrugs. _Shrugs_. Indignant, Cloud stands up. “Don’t you want to go home?”

“I don’t have a home.”

“Family?”

Something darkens in the man’s eyes, and he shakes his head. “No one.”

Cloud’s heart breaks for the man. He stands, helpless, hands clenching nervously. “… I’m going to help you.” Vincent’s gaze drifts to him, questioningly. “You can’t possibly want to stay here. I’m going to find a way to get you out!”

The man’s gaze grows sad, almost pitying. “That is kind of you but unwarranted. I deserve this.”

Cloud groans. “Stop it. You can’t possibly deserve this. Unless you like – I don’t know – murdered a bunch of people. You didn’t… murder a bunch of people?” The man’s gaze drifts back to his.

“I have.”

Cloud gulps. “… oh.” The boy fidgets. “But you must’ve had a good reason.” Finally, it occurs to him, his eyes going wide. “That’s it, you’re a vampire, aren’t you?”

The man’s eyes go wide. “No, that’s not – no.” Shaking his head, Vincent’s eyes take on a shine that almost looks humorous. “I am not a vampire.”

“Then what are you?”

An hour of bugging him got Cloud no answers. Still, he left, certain that he would come back and learn more, sometime soon.

* * *

 

  
He kept coming back. Weeks turned into months, months into a year. Cloud spent more time in the Mansion basement than he did in his own house.

“Don’t you have friends your own age to play with?”

“No,” Cloud answers the man. He’s not that hurt by it; he’s gotten used to it, and as of late, having someone else as a companion has been a balm to that wound.

Cloud sits in the room next to Vincent’s room, speaking to him through another bit of damage in the wall. It’s a pretty large hole, large enough for Vincent to watch Cloud rummaging around in the lab as they speak. The older man had warned him against it multiple times but had no way to actually stop the boy’s explorations.

“There’s gotta be something here that can help you,” Cloud had told him. “I’m gonna figure out this whole mystery about you, and get you out of here, okay?”

Vincent had just sighed, looking away, but there was something in his gaze that showed he was really touched by it. The man was lonely, admit it or not… and Cloud was, too.

“Why don't you have friends?”

Cloud shrugs. He’s got a stack of old paperwork in front of him, and is searching through it page by page. He’s looking for words like “spell”, “Vincent”, “lock”, anything that might set him on the right path. It’s a stab in the dark but it’s something.

“I’m different,” He says to Vincent as he continues. “In small towns like this people don’t like that.” Then, as an afterthought, he shrugs. “I don’t have a dad, so… people pick on me.”

Vincent’s gaze seems to tighten. “I am sorry. Did he die?”

Cloud shook his head. “Mom says he was a one night stand she never saw again. It’s okay – I don’t really care about him.” He really doesn’t. He has a great mom, and if the rest of the town cares so much about his lineage, that’s their problem.

“Hm.”

Cloud sits up. “What’s that mean?” The boy twists around to see the man. Vincent’s gazing at the wall, thoughtful.

“What?”

“You said ‘hm’.” Cloud turns all the way around, hands on his knees. “What’s that mean?”

“It’s just a sound.”

“You don’t make sounds unless they mean something.” Cloud points at him, certain of himself – he’s been around enough months that he knows these things about the other. Vincent has to admit defeat to that, and Cloud sees him accepting it in the light smirk on his face. He inclines his head.

“I did not have a father, either.”

Cloud gaze softens. But he doesn’t offer platitudes or condolences. “Well, that’s okay. You’ve got me. We bastards have to stick together!”

Vincent blinks at the word, but the cheerful, determined look on Cloud’s face almost makes him smile.

* * *

 

Life in Nibelheim goes on as it always has. Years come and go; the Mansion becomes Cloud’s second home. He spends time there constantly, enough for it to have an unforeseen effect on him. He hadn’t noticed at first – but after enough time, it became clear he wasn’t being quite as… careful, as he should have been in the lab.

He was no scientist – the boy had no idea how to handle the material properly. So if one of his open wounds from the monsters in the mansion came into contact with Mako, well, he simply didn’t know better. Or if he cut himself on a beaker covered in the stuff, well, that was an accident.

It was accidents that kept happening.

He got sick from it once; sick enough he couldn’t leave the mansion, curled into himself and groaning from the pain of it. It was like being seasick, on crack. He’d said as much and gotten a weird look from Vincent.

Cloud was gone so long, his mother came looking for him, and found him almost catatonic in Vincent’s care. The woman had about beamed the man in the head, before Vincent was able to calm her. The fact that Cloud had already told her about a friend named Vincent calmed her somewhat, but she’d always thought that was some kind of imaginary friend.

“Alright, alright,” The woman breathes steadily, trying to calm herself. Her son is still laying on the ground, moaning. “So you’re Vincent. Now why don’t you tell me what the fuck happened to my kid?”

Explaining “mako poisoning” to an ever increasingly worried mother was not a fun task, and something Vincent hoped he never had to do again. The fact that there was literally nothing to do but wait it out was even worse. But finally, eventually, Cloud woke up, and got a severe lecture from both of them.

“Going around gallivanting like some grown man, well I’ll tell you boy, you ain’t a man and you won’t live to be one if you don’t stop acting like some – “

“Your actions were reckless. I have warned you against the labs and you have constantly ignored and disobeyed me –“

Cloud glances from one reddened, enraged face to the other, and through the sick haze and giddy relief he's feeling, could only laugh. It breaksthe atmosphere, both adults relaxing, stunned.

“Sorry,” The boy sputters. “It’s just – it’s like I have a mom and dad, after all.”

There is nothing either wide eyed adult can really say to that.

* * *

 

  
Momma Strife wasn’t going to keep her son from the only male influence in his life; but she wasn’t gonna let him get sick all the time neither. After a good lecture and a month’s worth of grounding, he was allowed back, after promising to be much, much more careful.

Cloud meant it, too. Mako poisoning was no fun and he never wanted it again.

(He’d never really notice it, again. There was so much mako in the lab, so many chemicals and leftover experiments, that it was on… everything. Everything he touched was contaminated. It got into his blood, his lungs, his flesh, all the time, but never in such a large a dose again. But it built up, and it changed him, and over time even brought out the green in his eyes.)

But the fact that it happened, brought questions to the young man’s mind. “What was this place?” He asks Vincent one day, sitting with him in the coffin room. It’s not his favorite place, but it’s the only one where he can really be close to the man.

The other is sitting above him, perched as usual on his coffin. “It was a laboratory.”

“I know that.” Cloud scoffs. “But I mean… some of the stuff I’ve seen… and the things left behind…” Vincent’s head lowers, gaze darkening. Cloud glances his way. “You don’t have to tell me.” It’s the honest truth – he likes Vincent, no longer as just a “mystery” but as a friend.

“No,” Vincent finally sighs. “You deserve to know.”

* * *

 

  
Cloud once had a dream of going to Shinra, of becoming a SOLDIER. That day, he storms home in a fury, tears clouding his eyes, tearing the Shinra application out of his drawer and ripping it to shreds. He stomps on the remnants, before going after anything with a Shinra logo on it. Everything – save the magazine clipping of Sephiroth near his desk, which he can’t bring himself to destroy.

His rage abated for a time, Cloud slumps into his desk chair, staring at the picture. How awful. Poor Vincent – poor Sephiroth! The boy’s gaze shifts, to the figure at Sephiroth’s back, almost cropped out of frame: a man in a lab jacket, with a hand carefully posed on Sephiroth’s shoulder – a show of support? Or of ownership?

 _So we meet, Hojo,_ Cloud thinks with a frown. _So we meet._ Cloud has had enemies before – usually town bullies and classmates. But he’s never hated anyone like this.

He’s not going to SOLDIER. It’s a somber thought, but most of his affection for the dream has been crushed by reality. But he can still be a hero – a hero to the poor man trapped in that awful basement, who lost everything to a madman.

* * *

  
Cloud spends the evening of his eighteenth birthday hunched over in the Shinra Mansion, muttering to himself.

Vincent, standing in a corner nearby, hovers nervously, unsure. “You don’t have –“

“Hush.” Cloud insists. His voice has deepened with time and age, but it’s still a much lighter tone than his adopted father’s. He’s still pretty short too, but his muscles have filled out nicely after years of fighting the monsters in and around the mansion. He’d even taken to defending the outskirts of town, which had raised the general opinion of him, if only a little.

His eyes are a bright Mako green, despite his insistence that he’d always been very careful. It was inevitable, spending so much time in such a corrupt place. It had definitely increased his strength and build, to the point that he could lift a sword way out of his weight range.

At the moment, it was materia he was working with, though. “Just another… minute…” Sweating, Cloud bit his lip, focusing on the bright light flowing through his fingers. Around him, circles of magic drawn into the floor began lighting up.

Vincent watched this with great trepidation. “Cloud… I’m not certain –“

A flash of light; an explosion, followed by a delayed cheer of victory. Cloud stands from the cloud of dust and soot covered in filth, but with a bright grin on his face. Vincent appears a moment later, rushing forward in concern.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” The young man insists, wiping some of the sweat from his brow. “What about you? Feel any different?”

Vincent leans away, narrowing his eyes. “I…” He couldn’t tell. He didn’t feel much different. He felt relieved, that Cloud was okay, but besides that… “I don’t know.”

“Well, come on,” Cloud nods to the doorway. “There’s only one way to find out, right?”

Ten minutes later found both of them standing on the first floor of the mansion. Cloud had a big, beaming grin on his face. He gave a whoop of delight spinning to face his friend.

“You’re free!” He says, swinging his arms out. “You can go anywhere, now.” But Vincent’s look isn’t relieved, or joyous. It’s… cold. Quiet. Cloud’s shoulders fall. “… Vincent?”

The man blinks. “I’m sorry,” He says. “Thank you, Cloud.” The words are as emotional as bricks. Cloud’s face falls.

“Vincent, you…” Sighing, the man lowers his arm. “I know you feel guilty about everything… but isn’t it time you forgave yourself? It was a long time ago. And it wasn’t your fault!”

Vincent says nothing; this is an argument they’ve had a thousand times. He turns, hiding his eyes behind long waves of hair. The defeated look silences Cloud, who huffs but stays quiet, feeling rather defeated himself.

They stand in silence, stuck in the mire of Vincent’s emotions, unable to move in any direction. Finally, Cloud mumbles to the other.

“Well… at least maybe you can find out something about Sephiroth, right?” Cloud says. “About what they did to him? You’re free, so you can go explore the labs now.”

That actually lights up the man’s eyes; he looks interested, turning to face Cloud again. Seeing any sign of life in the man at all is enough for Cloud, so he gestures for the man to lead the way.

* * *

 

  
Garbage. Hojo’s lab is full of garbage; not just the remnants of the lab itself, but the actual research. It’s full of holes and false data and plain bullshit, even Vincent can see that, and he’s no scientist.

Cloud, sitting at a table nearby, flips through one of the books lackadaisically. “So, what is all this?”

“Supposedly, research,” Vincent scowls. “Reports on the events of back then, but – they’re all wrong.”

“How?”

“For one, Sephiroth’s mother is listed as ‘Jenova’,” Vincent says. He scowls at the page before turning and throwing the book into a nearby pile. All the books have gone into this pile – not a one worth much of anything. “There’s no proper birth certificate for the child at all.”

“That’s weird,” Cloud looks up with a frown. “You’d think somebody like Hojo would parade that kind of knowledge around.”

Vincent glances back, an eyebrow quirked. “I just mean,” Cloud continues. “The guy’s an arrogant asshole. He’d want the whole world to know that Sephiroth was his son right? And he’d keep proof of it, too. Scientists are all about proof.”

“Hojo is the father.” Vincent turns away. “There is no one else who could be.”

“Yeah, but…” Cloud’s frown deepens as he crosses his arms. “Have you ever looked at Sephiroth?”

Vincent shakes his head. Picks up another book, barely glances at the title, before throwing it in the pile.

“He looks nothing like Hojo. At all. It just – doesn’t it seem weird to you?”

Vincent shrugs. He’s not sure what the boy is trying to puzzle out, but he’s learned to let Cloud pursue things to their end rather than getting in the way. It just makes the stubborn boy even more determined.

The man’s lack of interest does not dissuade Cloud – as Vincent had expected. The younger man stands, approaching him, coming to lean against the bookshelf beside him. He says nothing; just watches, sharp eyes on the older man. That’s fine; Vincent is a patient man. He can outwait the best of them.

Finally, Cloud scowls. “Haven’t you ever wondered?”

“Wondered what?”

“I mean –“ The man sighs. “You were with her too, weren’t you?”

The change in direction surprises him. Vincent blinks.

“With that doctor lady. What if Sephiroth is _your_ kid?”

The world screeches to a halt.

“… that is what you believe?” Vincent, stunned, turns to face the boy. “That’s – it’s not possible.”

“How do you know?”

“We never had – relations, for one!”

Cloud can’t help a chuckle at that. “Relations. You really are an old man.”

“It doesn’t change the fact,” The somewhat ruffled gunman continues, “That I could not be his father.”

“She was a scientist. She could’ve done something – hell, Hojo could have!”

“For what purpose?”

Cloud shrugs at that. “Some kinda twisted revenge? Maybe Hojo wasn’t capable. Heh, maybe he couldn’t do it.”

Stunned is not a strong enough word. The very idea shakes him to his core – he can’t be the father. He can’t be because if he is then his failure is a thousand times worse, then he could have stopped them, could have demanded legal rights to his child, could have –

Gods… he couldn’t be –

“Vincent?” Cloud, concerned, unfurls his arms. “Vincent, are you alright?”

The man blinks away tears, turning his head, but can’t bring himself to say anything. The weight of guilt and grief are drowning him, and he curls into himself slightly.

“Okay, I’m sorry I brought it up, I – I’m really sorry.” Cloud steps a little closer. “Vincent?”

“I need to be alone.” The man finally manages.

“Okay. Okay, just – “ Cloud sighs. “I’ll see you later.” Vincent waits until he hears the boy’s footsteps leaving, to collapse upon the floor. He cries into the early hours of the morning; when he’s somewhat collected, the man pulls himself up by the bookshelf.

He keeps his hold on it – then, in a rage, shoves it over. He screams bloody fury, pushing it into the next row, then grabbing the next nearest shelf and lifting it clear off the floor. It flies into another shelf, and both shatter, paper and shards of wood flying all around.

Vincent doesn’t stop until the library is torn to shreds, until it is all dismantled, and then stops only to find his materia. Cloud had brought him this one for this occasion – a fire spell.

He sets the books aflame. The stone walls keep it from spreading, long enough for him to cast another spell and kill the fire. By then, everything, all the research, the pain, the lies, is all ashes. Ashes, like the taste in Vincent’s throat, burning his eyes.

He leaves the basement. And he does not go back.

* * *

 

  
“Hear me out.”

It’s been two weeks since their last conversation that didn’t end well. Two weeks, and Cloud has kept dutifully silent about it. But the idea is burning in his throat and it’s so, so hard to keep from talking about it.

Because he just knows it’s true. Somehow, he knows, that this man is the father of his hero, unjustly kept from his own son. That Sephiroth is the victim of a horrible man’s manipulations, and that it can all be set to rights if Vincent would just _see_.

But the elder man is stubborn, and determined to hate himself, and won’t hear a word of his possible paternal relationship.

Cloud may not have gone on to become a SOLDIER, but he still greatly respects General Sephiroth. The man had been his childhood hero, his – embarrassingly enough – first crush, even his “gay awakening”, as he’s heard others call it. He’s a good man – a good, handsome man, Cloud can’t help but think – and he deserve better than the rat Hojo as a father.

Anybody would be lucky to have Vincent as their dad. If the man could just see it.

“Listen, I’m telling you, it makes sense.” He can feel Vincent’s scowl even if he can’t see it through the ice and snow. “Why else would Hojo be so tight lipped about Sephiroth’s parents? Why are there no records?”

“Just because there are none here –“

“There aren’t any online, either. You can find public records for all the Shinra employees, including birth certificates, but not Sephiroth’s.” That earns Cloud a heavy, incredulous look from Vincent. “What? You can’t judge me. You were a Turk, you have to know this stuff is obtainable.”

“Yes, but that does not mean Sephiroth is my son.” Vincent spits back. “Just – drop it, Cloud.”

Cloud huffs, but he allows the conversation to end, if only because his lips are cold. Mt. Nibel is awful on a good day, and Vincent just had to pick a particularly bad day to decide to climb the mountain.

He hadn’t asked Cloud to come, but the young man wasn’t going to let him go alone. Almost nineteen, the blond had become a seasoned warrior on par with most SOLDIERS, though he didn’t know it. Mako enhanced healing and reflexes gave him a great advantage, as did years practicing with his mother’s old sword. She’d trained him from time to time, but her old injuries made it hard for her to really instruct him. Vincent was a gunman, not a swordsman. So Cloud was stuck figuring out on his own, mostly, but he wasn’t half bad in spite of it.

Eventually, they came to Vincent’s goal: the reactor. Unlike the mansion, it was most certainly not abandoned, and Cloud wasn’t sure what Vincent planned to do about that.

“You certain about this?” He asks. “This could put you back on Shinra’s radar, you know.”

“I am certain.” Vincent repeats. “I must be sure that Hojo’s lies are gone. I will not have him – twisting his son’s mind, with this filth.” Granted, neither of them knew what Hojo had told the man himself – but at least this way there was no false paper trail backing him up.

So, Cloud nodded, settling in for a fight, but Vincent held up a hand. “This is as far as you go. I can sneak in by myself much more easily.”

The man almost argued, but gave in after a harsh glare from the elder. “Fine. I’ll make camp.” Vincent nodded, and in an instant, was gone with a flash of red.

* * *

 

  
Cloud lays back, staring up at the night sky. Somewhere, miles away, Sephiroth might be looking at this same sky. It’s so strange, imagining these thin connections between them. The same sky – the same bond to this odd, somber man named Vincent. An almost-father, better than any real dad either of them had, even if one didn’t know it.

 _Would you want to know him?_ Cloud wonders. _I bet you would._ He’s been watching Sephiroth’s public life for years, the whole world has. The man has few friends, fewer family, and a life full of war and bloodshed and the unflinching public eye. It can’t be pleasant. And – even imagining the thought of a guy like Hojo as his only family –

“Ew,” Cloud winces.

He’s never met the man but he didn’t have to. Vincent’s told him, and Cloud believes him. The scientist had tormented him for years before growing bored, locking him up and tossing away the key. How awful. How a man like that could ever be considered someone’s father –

It just – can’t be right. And it’s not just that Hojo is awful it’s just – the pieces don’t fit. He can’t be Sephiroth’s dad.

Footsteps alert him to Vincent’s presence. The man doesn’t have to make sound, but after enough sudden scares, has learned how to give Cloud a little warning to his presence. “Hey,” Cloud sits up, next to the small fire he’d made. “Found what you were looking for?”

The man is scowling. Suddenly, Cloud hears sirens on the air. “Uh…” The blond blinks. “Should we go?”

Vincent shakes his head. “Travelers fleeing the mountain are what they’d be looking for now. We should settle for the night.” But he does douse the fire, before moving closer to Cloud and the tree the man had settled beneath.

“You wanna snuggle?” Cloud jokes. “Might be warmer that way. On the other hand, you’re an icicle.”

Vincent smirks at the joke, but he takes a seat beside the man. Silently, he offers his cape, and Cloud happily takes refuge beneath it. The move closer, trying to conserve warmth.

“So, what was there?”

Vincent hums. “Nightmares. More nightmares.” He murmurs. “They’re gone.” So, whatever he’d found, he’d destroyed. Cloud nods his approval. He’s shivering still; it’s damn cold. Vincent lifts his arms, and Cloud looks up.

Carefully maneuvering with his clawed hand, Vincent removes his cloak and sets it on Cloud’s shoulders. The blond barely thinks to murmur, thank you, staring at the other. He’s never seen him without it. Something sticks out to him, like an alarm blaring inside his mind, but he can’t quite…

Sitting up, Cloud surprises Vincent by reaching for his bandanna. “Humor me,” The younger asks, and Vincent stills. Carefully, Cloud undoes the bandanna. Doing so lets the man’s hair fall forward some. His bangs, usually kept back by the cloth, come forward in two long strips beside his face. His long, angular face, with high cheek bones, thick lips, a strong chin, and sharp eyes – all so very familiar.

“Holy shit,” Cloud murmurs to himself, ignoring Vincent’s surprised look.

Vincent Valentine looks just like Sephiroth.

* * *

 

“Remind me again how you convinced me of this?”

Stepping off the train into Sector Seven, Cloud grins. “Because you’re a sucker.”

Vincent harrumphs at that, his version of a laugh. He steps off the train behind Cloud, never far from his side.

It had taken a long time to convince the man, though. First, Cloud had had to convince his mother that a trip to Midgar was a good idea. He had enough money for it – killing monsters on bounty was a pretty good way to earn cash. Plus, he told her, he’d take Vincent along. It was just convincing Vincent that took a while.

He begged and pleaded and told the man he wouldn’t be allowed to go if Vincent didn’t come along and watch his back. That finally convinced him; and now, near to twenty years old, Cloud takes his first steps into Midgar.

He’s not exactly that excited to be there. Despite what he told Vincent and his mother, no, it was not a dream for him to come here. It just happens to be convenient to his plan. (But if he’d told Vincent that the man would have run the other way).

Somehow, someway, this trip Vincent is going to meet his biological son, if Cloud Strife has anything to say about it.

 

 


	2. Midgar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cloud makes some friends in the big city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a short story. This was supposed to have only two chapters. But this is now becoming a monster that won't leave me alone. Plot and ideas and angst and fluff all keep jumping into my brain fighting for attention... and I keep shoving all of them and more into the story and it keeps getting longer! Oh well. Looks like I'm starting another multichapter fic. Sighs.
> 
> Thanks for all the reviews and kudos so far! It's very nice to feel appreciated. C: More coming soon! A lot of this is written, I'm just trying to figure out how to tie all the threads together.

  
“You need to get out more.”

Sephiroth does not waste so much as a glance on the other man. Merely rolls his eyes and continues his paperwork. “Do you have something to report, SOLDIER?”

“Yup,” Zack replies, moving to hop up onto the man’s desk. Sephiroth sighs, leaning back, seeing that this is one of those many times in which the younger man won’t be deterred. “I’m here to report that tonight I’m hitting the town and I’m taking my best friend with me.”

The second eyeroll is more fond, though exasperated. “Zack, I’m not going drinking with you.”

“Come on!” The man spins around, knocking things off the desk as he does. “You never get out of the office. You gotta let loose a little, have fun.”

“Having fun is not part of the job description.” He quirks an eye at the man. “We have jobs to do. Both you and I are expected at the event tomorrow. And I have responsibilities tonight.”

“Ugh,” Zack groans. “Hojo again?”

Sephiroth tries to ignore the loathing in the man’s tone. “Father has asked –“

“I hate that you call him that.” The other sighs. Sephiroth’s throat tightens, but he doesn’t look up.

“Father has asked that I perform a few tests tonight.”

“He always has more tests!”

“They are vital to my performance.”

“Gimme a break, you’re performance is perfect.” The man snorted. “It’s your personal life that’s lacking. A real father would care more about that.”

Sephiroth says nothing. He has no defense, no explanation. Hojo is not a father in almost all respects – save that he is Sephiroth’s biological father. Zack, cursing under his breath, finally stands and sighs. “Sure you don’t want to come along?”

“Not this time,” The silver haired man sighs. “Perhaps another.”

Zack’s eyes widen – never before has Sephiroth implied he might actually go with him. It’s enough to make the man smile again. “I’ll hold you to it!” He says, backing away while still facing the other. “See you,”  
  
Sephiroth’s reply is barely out of his mouth when Zack’s already round the corner and down the hall. The office feels very empty without him.

* * *

 

  
The problem with Cloud’s plan was, well… he didn’t really have one.

Well, he did, it was just incomplete and looked something like:

1\. Take Vincent to Midgar  
2\. Introduce him to Sephiroth  
3\. ??????  
4\. Profit

Sighing, Cloud leans back and the mattress squeaks. It’s some rundown place in one of the slums, the best he could afford. It’s been four days since they arrived, and so far, it’s been all but useless. Because of course they haven’t run into the damn General of SOLDIER in the slums. But Cloud has no idea how to get any closer than he already has.

And he’s running out of ways to delay returning home. Vincent is getting antsy, Cloud can tell. The man doesn’t like to be this close to Shinra, not that Cloud blames him, and soon enough he’s not going to want to hang around anymore. But they can’t leave, not until…

_Not until I fix all this._

Frowning determinedly, Cloud sits up quick. “Don’t wait up,” He tells the shadow hanging by the window, who glances at him.

“Where are you going?”

“Out.” He tells Vincent. The man cocks an eyebrow. “Really, I’ll be fine.” He has his sword, and he’s not carrying much of any value. “Back in a bit.” Before the man can protest again, Cloud’s gone, hoping beyond hope that he can poke around a bit and find something, anything, to put his plan together.

* * *

  
Three hours later finds a distressed, hopeless Cloud Strife wandering the slums. There’s nothing. What the hell did he think he would find? A silver staircase up to Shinra Tower? A gold ticket inviting him to the Sephiroth’s office? It’s not like the common folk can just waltz in and meet the man. Cloud’s a nobody, and nobodies don’t talk to the General of Shinra.

Hope lost and ideas spent, Cloud wanders for lack of something to do, hating to return to the hotel. When he does, he’ll have to tell Vincent he’s ready to go, because there’s no reason to stay. He’s just wasting time and money trying. It breaks his heart and frustrates him to no end. It would be so perfect! Vincent could finally stop feeling so guilty, and Sephiroth could know his real dad. They were so close, damn it!

So upset and lost in thought, Cloud almost didn’t notice the man approaching him. Just in time, the blond glances up and hops out of the way, catching the man’s gaze.

“Whoa!” The brunette chuckled, backing up. “Sorry. Nice reflexes man.” The man glances his way, then pauses, as if seeing him for the first time. Then he whistles. Cloud’s eyebrows lift. “Damn. Are you a SOLDIER?”

Cloud blushes, confused. “Uh, no,” Then, about panics when the stranger gets right in his face.

“But your eyes!” He insists. “And the way you just moved – I swear, I’ve only seen reflexes like that on a 1st class.”

“R – really?” Shocked Cloud steps back. “I – I mean, the eyes are cause of Mako. I fell in some as a kid.” The stranger stares incredulously. “A few times.” More silence. “A lot of times.”

“Huh.” The stranger, hands on his hips, leans back. “What’s your name, kid?”

Frowning, he crosses his arms. “My name is Cloud. And I’m hardly a kid, I’ve gotta be about your age!” Eyebrow raised, Cloud steps a little closer. “How’d you know so much about SOLDIER anyway?”

Grinning, the stranger points a thumb at his own chest. “Duh. Cause I am one. 1st class!”

Cloud blinks. A beaming smile spreads over his face in the next second, taking the man by surprise. The laugh and cheer surprises him even further, especially when it’s followed by the blonde practically leaping on him, grabbing his shoulders with bellowing laughter.

* * *

  
When Cloud doesn’t reappear by morning, Vincent starts getting a little worried. Of course, the boy is now an adult, and can do as he likes – and in respect for that, Vincent had decided to give him some space. If the young man wanted a night on his own in the big city, that was his choice.

But when he hadn’t heard from him all night nor seen him in the morning, Vincent decided it was time to be worried. He tried the boy’s PHS and got nothing; so he hit the town, asking about a young blonde country boy. No one had seen him. He’s about close to panicking when finally he got the phone call.

“Vincent!” The boy on the phone sounds breathless, joyous. “I am so, so sorry,”

“Where have you been?” The man interrupts. “Are you alright?”

“Fine, fine, just – had a little too much fun last night.”

It figured. Vincent had imagined this was the answer but still is frustrated with the young man. Still… it is expected of youth. So long as he is safe. “Where are you? I’ll come find you.”

“Uh… that’s not – it’s alright. I’ll get cleaned up and meet you somewhere okay? I’ll call you.”

Vincent had also expected this. Whatever his night had been like, Cloud’s obviously embarrassed and doesn’t want Vincent to see the raunchier details of it. He can respect that. “… Fine. But do so quickly.” He needs visible proof the man is safe.

“Okay, I will, promise. I’ll call you soon.”

They hang up, and Vincent sighs, pocketing the device. To be that age again. Cloud is a good boy, but he’s still a boy, still so young. With his maturity it is easy to forget sometimes.

So Vincent finds himself with some time to spare. Knowing Cloud is safe, he feels much more at ease – but Midgar makes him nervous. Too many SOLDIERs and infantrymen, too strong of a Shinra presence. Especially today. Apparently some sort of parade or event is happening, and the streets are being cleared to prepare for it. Vincent almost wants to leave… but the idea, the small possibility that he might be here…

He wants to see him. Just… some proof that he lived, that he’s alright…

Vincent stays. He hides in a corner of the nearest café, and sits, waiting.

* * *

 

  
It was a long, busy night – just not for the reasons Vincent had thought.

Cloud wakes with a groan as if he did have a hangover. He’d gotten maybe one or two hours of sleep. His new friend is already awake, somehow managing squats in the front of the room.

“I can’t believe you,” Cloud shakes his head. “How are you this awake?”

“Practice.” Zack replies with a grin. It’s only been a few hours since they met, but somehow the other’s warmth and friendliness have made them much closer. He stands from his last move, and extends a hand to the other boy. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, just – gotta make a call.”

“Right.” Zack nods. “Seph’s dad. That’s still so weird to think of – I mean not that I’m 100% sure it’s true – I mean, I believe you believe it –“

“I get it.” Cloud shakes his head. “Trust me, when you see him…”

“Alright, but deal’s a deal – I meet him first, and if I believe it, then we go see Sephiroth.” Zack’s eyes suddenly go wide. “Aw, damn, Seph! I forgot! We’re supposed to be part of this press event today!” Grabbing his hair, the man groans. “Aw, shit.”

“With Sephiroth?” Cloud leans down to put on his shoes. “Let me come with you. Give me a chance to talk to him!”

“Look, I said –“

“I know, and I won’t say a word about that. But – there’s other stuff… things he should know.”

Zack, sighing, finally shakes his head. “Alright, alright. He should have the chance to hear all this for himself. Just – take it easy okay? He may not seem like it but he’s pretty delicate about some things.”

Cloud nods. He can get that. “Yeah – I understand.”

They get clean and dressed, and head out together.

* * *

  
Sephiroth Jenova has grown accustomed to attempts on his life, deliberate or otherwise. From time to time it felt like the labs were trying to kill him, and then there were the purposeful attempts to kill him, which more than not happened at events like this.

A public statement to the world: General Sephiroth, dead on the stage. It would certainly be something – if anyone could actually make it happen.

He sees them coming from a mile away. Hears the shot, taken from across the courtyard in the most obvious position possible, and more than likely the Turks will be upon the enemy in minutes. Sephiroth doesn’t fret. His blade swipes through the air and the threat is ended as two pieces of metal clunk to the floor.

That, apparently, is not all. The crowd screams as enemies swarm in – not actually that many, to be honest, and barely enough for Sephiroth to break a sweat. How trite. The man huffs, sheathing his sword again, before making to step down from the stage.

At this point, he expects things like this. Assassination attempts, murder plots, screaming crowds parting in fear in his wake. All relatively normal.

The great winged demon descending from the sky out of nowhere to settle in from of him? Less normal. Much, much less normal.

Sephiroth blinks, stunned, for two reasons: one, this creature is clearly not with the soldiers who are attacking, because he can tell the enemy is a Wutaian group of freedom fighters, from their style of dress to the way they wield the blades they’re fighting with. Clearly, they had planned to take Sephiroth down before attacking the stage and eliminating the rest of Shinra’s top heads. It hadn’t worked so well for them.

This fellow is definitely not with the Wutaians. He’s in no uniform, he’s not wielding the same weapons, and by the stunned reaction from the enemy force, they weren’t expecting him either.

The second reason: the demon rips the first Wutaian in his path to bloody ribbons with a bestial roar, his back to Sephiroth, wide open for attack. Apparently not here to attack Sephiroth, but… defend him.

That is very new.

Sephiroth absentmindedly defends against an array of attacks from the Wutaians, dodging blows and striking back, all while keeping the demon in close sight. Wide eyes watch as claws tear and sink into the enemy without mercy, and Sephiroth scowls.

Is this some new experiment of Hojo’s? Some defense mechanism, should his “precious project” come under fire? He’d never been told of such a thing. But it’s clear from the way it moves and acts that this creature is solely there to protect Sephiroth.

The idea is mind-boggling. The man harrumphs. No one protects him – it’s his job to protect others. It’s what he was made for, he’d like to believe. Hojo tells him otherwise, tells him things… he’d rather not think about.

Sharp green eyes keep track of the demon, until a cry gains his attention. Enemies have made it to the stage, where the Turks stand defending the president. At close range, the swordsman have the advantage, and are pressing it. Sephiroth scowls, cursing this distraction for taking up his time, but storms over to defend him anyway.

He doesn’t make it; the moment he steps onto the stage and back into the line of fire the sniper tries again. Apparently the Turks hadn’t gotten to him yet. The shot is off by a good foot, but manages to turn the President’s skull into something reminiscent of an exploding watermelon. Sephiroth only has a moment to contemplate the idea that the President is dead before another shot fires. He spins to face it, and sees a wall of black and red.

The creature takes the bullet – and it roars in fury, clearly facing the enemy but making no move to go after him. It stays in front of Sephiroth, blocking his entire view and his field of motion.

He tries to sidestep – the demon moves. He tries jumping him; the demon keeps in line with his flight. Sephiroth is boxed into a corner by this overprotective bat and the man has never been so perplexed and honest to goodness stumped in his life.

“What are you?” He finally asks with a sigh, realizing that this amazingly fast and powerful creature can somehow keep up with even him. At those words, the beast turns its head towards him.

There’s… something in his eyes. Intelligence, beyond mere instinct. Feeling, emotion, powerful emotion. Most of all, Sephiroth can tell in the glint of ruby red that the beast is – sad.

Next he knows, those eyes widen in shock, followed by a low moan, before it slumps forward. Sephiroth hardly knows what he’s doing when he rushes forward to catch it. The thing is surprisingly heavy, for being so lithe, but it loses some of that weight as the wings began to shift and move into themselves, as if vanishing beneath the skin. The muscles and bones crack and shift, until a much skinnier, much more human looking man is in Sephiroth’s arms.

Sephiroth turns him, cradling a thin unconscious figure in his lap. A young man, about his age, maybe a few years older. No sign of the demonic display from earlier – it’s as if this is a whole other person.

… what … the … _hell_?

* * *

 

  
“Oh, hey,” Zack gives an awkward chuckle, sliding to a halt. Cloud barely notices in time to stop before hitting him. “Looks like the… party’s over…”

They’d run across town to make it to the press event – some debut of some weapon or another, Cloud didn’t know or care – he just knew Sephiroth was going to be there. Zack was supposed to be, too.

“He’s gonna kill me,” Zack groans, dragging a hand down his face.

The square where the presentation had been is a wreck. Dead bodies are sprawled about – not many, but enough to be noticeable because hey dead bodies. Cloud blinks at the sight, trying to keep from throwing up, bile in the back of his throat.

“Okay…” Looking away, he scans the area. “Gross.” Civilians are gone; the area’s being tapped off, Turks and SOLDIERS everywhere, centered upon the stage. “Where’s Sephiroth?”

“Kid…” Zack sighs, stepping forward. “We may have bigger problems right now.” Still, Cloud makes to follow as he walks away, until the guards try to stop him. There’s a minute where Cloud thinks Zack will leave him behind but Zack waves them off. “He’s with me.”

Relieved, Cloud chases after, scanning the crowd for the tell-tale silver hair of the General. One part of him is on high alert for him, aware that this is his one shot at fixing things for Vincent; the other, well…

SephirothishereSephirothishereSEPHIROTHISHERE.

His heart is practically thrumming in his throat, his pulse a steady drumbeat in his ears. Cloud cannot believe this is happening. But he shoves aside that disbelief and excitement because he can’t focus on that now. He has a mission. For Vincent.

“Sir!”

Cloud straightens, following Zack’s gaze to the stage. It’s… oh. Another dead body. Great. Still, he follows, reluctant to lose his one connection to Sephiroth. Who is there.

Holy shit Sephiroth is right there!!

In spite of himself Cloud’s feet freeze and refuse to move. He’s staring, he knows he is. Staring at the gorgeous six foot frame in front of him, tall and lithe but clearly muscular. He takes a moment to think, Monstrously tall and skinny, who’s that like? Before taking a terrified step forward.

The General is angry. Furious, even. Cloud can’t hear over the screeching in his own brain (sephirothsephirothsephiroth) but he can tell the man is not happy. He keeps gesturing to the body on the stage, red faced and screaming at his second in command.

His second… oh.

“E – Excuse me.” Cloud steps forward. “Excuse me, sir!”

The second call gets a pair of vivid, bright green eyes on him, focused to angry slits. Somehow Cloud manages a shiver that isn’t entirely from fright. Seriously? Right now?

“I, um, that is,” Gulping, he pulls himself together. He came here for a reason damn it! He’s not a twelve year old pining over some distant hero anymore. Straightening his back he steps closer. “Zack is late because of me.”

“Kid…,” Zack glances between them, clearly unsure of how to handle this. He sighs. Then, turns back to his boss. “I met him under the plate. He had some… interesting things to say. Interesting enough I thought you should meet him.”

“You missed a vital mission because of a teenage boy?” Sephiroth’s voice is smooth, sultry, cold as ice. That’s definitely a tingle Cloud feels going down his spine. Is it hot in here? “I hope what he has to say is very, very interesting because the President is dead and more heads are going to roll after this Zack, and both you and I are in the line of fire now because of your behavior.”

The man pales further and further the more he’s dressed down. Cloud’s brain freezes – what the hell happened here?

“Hey, I’m not a teenager.” Cloud finally says. “My name’s Cloud. I came here from across the continent just to talk to you –“

“I don’t have time at the moment for whatever story you’ve contrived to impress my naïve lieutenant.” The man spits. “If you are still insisting upon speaking after this is taken care of, we will speak then –“

“Contrived?” Cloud feels the heat on his cheeks for an entirely different reason. Anger rolls through him from the tips of his toes to his spiky head. Contrived? “I’ll grant that you have more important things to do at the moment, I understand, and I’m sure you’ve got a hell of a lot of stress weighing down those shiny shoulder pads of yours,” Cloud spits, poking one of said pads as he does, “But that is no reason to go bein’ rude to somebody you haven’t even properly introduced yerself to, let alone your damn friend here – who might I add chose to risk getting into trouble to hear me out for you. And you know, what I don’t understand,” Cloud crosses his arms, completely ignoring all the warning signs around him, the way Zack’s eyes are bugging out, how Sephiroth has turned to face him completely. “Is how you can be so pissed at the fellow for not being here, when you were, and the man died. Whose fault is that?”

“Holy shit Cloud shut up.” Zack starts dragging his finger across neck in the universal “you’re dead” symbol.

It begins to sink in through the furious fog over his mind exactly what he’s said, and to who. Cloud pales. Wide shaking eyes meet furious green ones. Furious, but thoughtful green.

“What was your name again?” Sephiroth asks quietly.  
  
“U – Uh, Cloud, sir.” The man stammers. Why is he not eviscerated yet? “Cloud Strife.”

The man’s eyes dance over his face. “You are not a SOLDIER.”

“… no?”

“And yet…”

“You noticed too huh?” Zack leans in a little. There’s something softening between them, a bit of the angry veneer wearing off. “Mako eyes.”

“I spent a lot of time in an abandoned Shinra lab as a kid.” Cloud tells them. The more candidly honest he is at this point, the more Sephiroth will hopefully believe him. As expected, Sephiroth’s brows lift somewhat.

That’s the last thing Cloud notices about him, however; his gaze drifts to what’s behind him. To a gurney, being wheeled into an armored car, upon which lays a heavily secured unconscious body.

“Vincent!”

Cloud bursts through Sephiroth and Zack, taking both by surprise. He’s screaming himself hoarse, watching in horror as the gurney is lifted into the truck. Bodies get in his way, accidentally, then deliberately, people grabbing him – he’s not even thinking, he just reacts. He moves, the way he’s practiced, the way he’s only ever had to with monsters, Nibel Wolves, failed science projects and things decidedly inhuman.

He fights, doesn’t think, just reacts, as tears well in his eyes. “Vincent!” The man doesn’t respond. Is he still alive? Is he hurt? Cloud feels guilt and pain choking him as the doors to the van shut, and lock, and he finally manages to elbow the nearest person in the face and toss the rest off. “Vincent!”

But next he knows, a much more powerful set of arms wraps around his waist. Stiff like bars of iron, and he can’t shake them, which prompts a shattering scream. This is his fault. Him and his stupid ideas, leading Vincent right back into the belly of the beast, to the people who hurt him in the first place. And now a Shinra van is driving off with his friend and it’s all his fault.

He roars – grabs the man’s arms, leans forward, flips, and body-slams him.

It’s enough to release the grip, for a moment, but Cloud’s disoriented too. He’s never actually tried that move for real, before. When he stands, he can barely see, dizzy, tear-blind, and then – a hand grabs his neck, firm but gentle – then nothing.

* * *

  
Vincent Valentine should not have come back to Midgar. The Turk in him knew that. The man in him… could not deny Cloud Strife anything.

Terror is thrumming beneath his skin but he tries his best to mask it. His face is a cold façade, his heartbeat, if he had one, would be a mile a minute. Strapped to a gurney in a Shinra vehicle, he is all but trapped in his own worst nightmare. The only small hope he clings to, is that he might manage escape in between transitioning out of the car, into the building. If they underestimate him, if they don’t know who they’re dealing with… it’s a small chance. But it’s something.

He hopes Cloud goes home. Hopes he gives up any thought of finding him, retrieving him. Most likely, the boy has no idea what has happened to him, which is… for the best. He should have been left in the basement, anyway.

The doors open. Vincent braces himself, waits for the right moment… then, he sees the shine of cold fluorescent light across wide spectacles. A familiar trembling laugh, made husky by the passing years.

His hopes waver and die. Fury and fear and sheer outrage race through him bringing the transformation with it, and he howls, trapped, as a barrier appears between him and his prey. He’s fallen for a trap. Leapt into a magic spell he can’t escape from. Walls descend around him – outside the truck, he sees sterile walls, bright lights, machinery, equipment… the acrid smell of chemicals and a room that is much too clean.

Chaos screams and Vincent cries, the sounds practically the same. And thirty years later, Hojo is still laughing.

* * *

  
A poster on Cloud’s wall is talking.

“You’re a liar, and I don’t like you,” Sephiroth, on the poster, says to him.

“Well, fine,” Fifteen year old Cloud, lying in bed, mutters. “I don’t need you anyway. I have friends.”

“You have a creepy dead guy that lives in a basement.”

“That dead guy is your dad.”

“Is not.”

“Is too.”

“Cloud,” Vincent’s face appears in the air vent in the floor, gripping the bars like it’s a prison cell. “He’s not my son.”

“See?” Sephiroth points at him. They are both making the identical “I told you so” look. Cloud groans.

“You have the weirdest bedhead, you know that?”

At that, Cloud sits up. “What?”

“Your hair. It’s so pointy most of the time.” Vincent says. Which… doesn’t really sound like him at all. “But now it’s a wave, all on one side. Like a barbed wire fence.” He chuckles.

Cloud blinks; white and blue blur his vision into a cloud mess, until the cloudiness fades away and he’s left with a man’s face, right in front of him. He jumps, which startles the other, who leaps away.

“Whoa! Jumpy guy aren’t you?”

Cloud breathes heavily – he sees the sharp bluish-black hair, the bright green eyes, and remembers. Zack. He sighs a little.

“You’re one to talk about hair,” He grumbles sleepily. The next moment his eyes widen, and he leaps out of bed. “Vincent! Where -?”

“Hey, calm down!” Zack holds up his hands. “Seph’s off trying to find your buddy right now. So just relax okay?”

“I can’t,” Cloud pushes past him, looking for a door. He’s in a large apartment, a loft of some kind, which from a glance looks a lot posher than anything he’s ever seen. The appliances are all new and shiny, the furniture clean and not worn hand-me-downs. That’s Shinra for you. “This is my fault, I have to find him.”

“Slow your roll, kid.” Zack steps in front of him. “I promise the General is going to have a much easier time getting Shinra’s people to tell him where Vincent’s been holed up than you will. Just breathe, and wait a minute. He’ll be back.”

Shinra’s people… so they had caught him. _My fault._

“Hey, why the long face?” Zack lowers his hands, gaze narrowed and puzzled. “I mean… I know Shinra’s not perfect… but you look like we killed your dog, or something.”

“Or something.” He mutters, for lack of anything to say. Cloud’s eyes fall to the floor and grow blurry with tears, but he doesn’t cry, or sob, or fall apart. He sits motionless, cold, letting them roll down his face.

“Cloud, hey,” Zack is beside him, a hand on his knee, in the next moment. “There’s a lot you haven’t told me, isn’t there? About this Vincent guy?” Cloud slowly nods. “Vincent, that’s – the one you think is…?”

Nodding more fervently, Cloud wipes at his eyes. “He is, I’m certain. I have proof.” He’s been putting together his own file on them. Brought it along, too… but it’s back at the hotel. He tells Zack as much and the SOLDIER sets to getting Cloud’s things brought over to them.

As he does that, Cloud leans back, trying not to fidget too much. He just has to hope that Vincent is lying in a medical ward somewhere, or a prison cell maybe, something temporary and normal and not out of a Mary Shelley-esque nightmare. He has little hope in that regard. Kind thoughts for Shinra have left him, nowadays.

Zack reapproaches a moment later, heaving a heavy sigh, falling hard into the couch across from him. “Bad news buddy,”

“Of course it’s bad.” He groans, hands over his face, rubbing his temples.

“Shinra’s in the shit at the moment.” The man sighs. “That attack today killed the President. Apparently it was part of a coordinated movement meant to take out all the bigwigs. Almost worked, too. Sephiroth made it, and so did the President’s kid, but a lot of the others didn’t. Scarlet – no big loss – Heideigger, another assole… a few small names, too. Anyway, everybody’s scrambling trying to figure out what’s going on and who reports to who. It might be a while before we figure out what’s going on with your friend.”

Sitting up, Cloud shakes his head. “That’s not good enough.” Zack looks ready to protest but the blond holds up a hand. “You don’t understand – I can’t leave him here like this.”

The brunette’s eyes narrow. “Then help me understand.” He scoots forward. “Tell me everything.”

“Yes,”

Both jump at the third voice, turning to the doorway, where one General Sephiroth stands. The man approaches, long even steps made quicker, almost impatient, by frustration. It’s clear in his voice, his tense posture, the sharpness of his eyes. “I would like to hear… everything.”

 

 


	3. Fatherhood

The first time Cloud ever got sent home with bloody knuckles and scrapped knees, it had been a fight over Sephiroth.

The man had been a household staple for only two or three years. A young rising star in Shinra, hero of the Wutai war and the symbol of so many young people’s hopes and dreams. He was on the cover of every magazine, the subject of tv specials and radio shows. Footage of the war was aired over the news and Cloud watched in awe at the way people followed this man, respected this man, how they crawled on hands and knees through hell for him.

Cloud had only been thirteen at the time and understood so little about war or the world. But watching the TV in class at school – a special rarity, for the signing of the treaty to end the war – watching Sephiroth command the attention of all around him, with such grace and poise. Cloud wanted that. He wanted to be like that.

Kyle, the fourteen year old boy behind Cloud, had muttered, “Look at his hair and his pretty face. He’s probably a huge gay prick.”

The young boy had seen red. He didn’t recall a lot of the incident. There was something about tossing a desk around, leaping out of his chair, punches flying and screaming the words “SEPHIROTH’S NOT A GAY PRICK”. He’d gotten his eye blackened, and his arm badly bruised, and sent home on suspension with a letter to his mother.

The woman had been waiting for him on the front porch, read the letter with keen eyes and quiet severity, then sighed before dragging him in the house, practically by the ear, to clean him up. “Don’t start fights – and don’t say prick,” Was all she really had to say about it.

Cloud hadn’t minded the suspension or the other punishments he’d received. So far as he saw it, he was defending Sephiroth’s honor, fighting for the General’s behalf, even if the General didn’t know about it.

Sitting across from the man in his own apartment complex in Shinra’s headquarters, Cloud is suddenly and vividly reminded of the whole incident. He can’t help but hope this one doesn’t end with bruises and black eyes.

* * *

  
The moment Sephiroth enters the room, the blond stands up. He’s wide eyed, clearly nervous, fidgeting on his feet. Cloud seems to realize the way he’s reacted and flushes, sitting down again. But clearly the instinctive response, the general attitude towards him, reveal that this young man is one of those “fans” Sephiroth’s gained over the years.

Internally, the general sighs. It would be so easy to try and dismiss this boy as a fan gone too far, but there’s too much else going on. For one, while his behavior is… boyish, there’s something else there. His tirade in the city, for one. Few people have ever had the gall to talk to General Sephiroth in such a manner. (Fewer still are currently breathing). For another: his eyes, his strange demon friend, Zack’s unshakable support for him. In anger, Sephiroth might’ve accused the boy of naivety but the truth is, Zack’s smart. He knows people. For some reason, he trusts this Cloud and it makes Sephiroth wonder.

The blond is sitting again, one knee bouncing in place, elbows resting on his knees as he leans forward. His head is lowered, but those eyes never leave Sephiroth. The silverette notices but doesn’t draw attention to it. Cloud is painfully aware of his presence in the room – perhaps… a former SOLDIER candidate? Either dishonorably discharged or failed the program, and didn’t finish the injections? That would give him reason to try and pull some stunt to discredit, harm, or even kill the General…

But none of that would fall in line with the pure adoration in the boy’s gaze. Green eyes narrow as Sephiroth stalks over to them. Zack is talking, Sephiroth vaguely listens and notes what he’s saying as he thinks. If Cloud were a disgruntled former employee, he wouldn’t be so clearly still respectful or admiring of the General.

Perhaps a victim of some Shinra coverup? No; the mako in his blood would imply relation to the science department. Why come to Sephiroth for an incident that relates to another department? It has to be SOLDIER related, or personal to him; but Sephiroth can’t think of anything a young man could know that would mean anything to him. As he sits beside Zack, his eyes narrow, and he finally speaks.

“So,” Sephiroth begins. “You say you have information for me. Generally, those who come forward with ‘tips’ for the General come to claim they’ve had my child, or that they were harmed somehow by my leadership,” The second one, almost always former SOLDIERs, were usually bad tempers who disobeyed orders and got in trouble for it. Sephiroth had not once been held liable for any of those.

“C – Child? No,” Cloud shakes his head. “This has nothing to do with kids. Not yours, anyway.” He amends. The comment is telling, and interesting. Sephiroth makes note of it.

“Then what is it you have to say?”

The blond shakes his head. “Vincent, first. You have to know something.”

He hesitates. To withhold, or no? For a moment he considers it – but this man shows all the signs of being an open, honest person, unlikely to be considering the angles or thinking strategically about their conversation. “He is in the building, in one of the labs. At the moment he is simply being held – all our top scientists are as embroiled in the… events of this morning as I am.”

“Yeah, all that,” Cloud frowns. “I meant to ask, how in the world did that happen? I mean no offence, but…” Leaning back, the boy glances off, scratching his chin. “This is Shinra, right? How did a bunch of randos get the better of you?”

A question Sephiroth is forced to ask himself much too often. The man sighs. “Shinra is… not what it used to be.” Zack snorts beside him.

“He’s not kidding.” The brunette starts. “Last five years, it’s gotten pretty bad. Inter-departmental fighting, misuse of funds, huge drop in recruitment… it’s falling apart from the inside.”

“And someone on the outside knew, and took advantage.” Sephiroth comments. Zack meets his eyes, and by the look on the other’s face, he was thinking the same thing. Good. “For the moment, that is not our concern.” He turns back to the civilian, scowling heavily. “What I want to know is, who are you, who is your companion, and what brought you here?”

* * *

  
Through his childhood, Cloud has imagined this meeting thousands of times. It never went anything like this. Most of the time, it was on the battlefield. Amid fighting monsters or defending the village, Sephiroth would appear and be blown away by Cloud’s prowess. Or, Shinra would come looking to recruit him and send the man, and Cloud would of course have to politely decline. In all those scenarios, he got to look badass.

This is not that.

This is a completely awkward situation that honestly, Cloud doesn’t know how to navigate. All this time he was trying so hard to get here, to have the conversation, when he never thought about what he’d actually say. How do you tell someone something like this? How do you make them believe it?

“I…” He gulps, turning his gaze away. Sephiroth’s eyes are too intense. Then he sighs. All of this would be easier if he didn’t have such a huge headache. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“The beginning is usually a sound choice.”

He chuckles a little at that. Then, with another sigh, he begins. “There’s this place back home, we call the Shinra Mansion. It’s a dump that’s been abandoned for years, but a few decades ago I guess it was a lab, or something. Anyway, when I was younger I got lost inside it, and Vincent saved me.”

“And that is your companion?” Sephiroth asks. Cloud nods in confirmation.

“Yeah. He’d been one of the experiments, left to rot. He was trapped by a summon-based seal, and hadn’t been outside in over thirty years. It took me a while to break it, but a few months ago–“

“Wait.” The General holds up a hand. “The seal. You broke the seal?”

“Uh, yeah.” Cloud nods. He’d just said that, right? Confused, he glances at Zack, who looks completely flummoxed.

“The hell is a – what’d you call it?”

“A seal is a type of spell cast to keep things, living or otherwise, contained within certain parameters. As it is drawn from magic, it requires materia, and the type used defines the type of seal.”

“Right,” Cloud nods at the explanation. “Anyway –“

“And you,” Sephiroth pointedly interrupts again. A spark of annoyance runs up Cloud’s spine, but he bites his tongue. “Broke it?”

“I just said that.”

“I have a hard time believing an untrained civilian could have done so.”

“Well, it did take five years.” Flustered and embarrassed at the doubting tone, Cloud tries ignoring the stab of hurt it causes.

“Anyway,” He almost hesitates and glances at Sephiroth, as if daring another interruption, unable to help the scowl on his face. The General notices, if his insulted frown is anything to go by. “The man who sealed him away was this guy named Hojo,”

“Oh, boy,” This interruption comes from Zack, who is properly cowed from one annoyed glare from the blonde.

“Vincent was a Turk assigned to protect him, Hojo betrayed him and used him as an experiment before locking him away.”

Sephiroth’s brow rises. “Those are some heavy accusations.”

“Yeah, you didn’t mention he was a Turk!” Zack whistles. “There’s a lot of stuff Shinra will let you get away with but – turning on a Turk? If Shinra doesn’t officially get you, sure as hell the Turks will.”

“They are – decidedly loyal.” Sephiroth glances to his subordinate with a thoughtful gaze. “How long ago do you claim this was?”

Cloud scowls at the wording. “It was about thirty years ago. Give or take.”

“The Turks were not established at the time.” Sephiroth retorts. There’s a smarmy smile on his face, an “I told you so”.

“That is correct.” Cloud smirks triumphantly back – “Ha!” “But their predecessor was, and that department was the one Vincent Valentine worked for. I bet there’s paperwork on him somewhere.”

“Fine, we will investigate,” Sighing, the General rubs his temple, showing a level of annoyance few have been allowed to see. Cloud didn’t know that; he just felt another surge of anger at the clear dismissals he was getting. “But I am still not understanding how this is related to me.”

“Well if you would stop interrupting –“ Cloud almost barks, temper flared, but a pointed throat-clearing from Zack makes him back down. He sighs. “Hojo attacked Vincent because he was planning on going back to Shinra to fight him over some of his experiments. Mainly, uh, - you.”

Sephiroth shows little emotion at this. The irritation and frustration are gone. His face is a blank slate, cool, poised, practiced.

“Um,” Cloud feels his own irritation dying down, overcome by awkwardness and nerves instead. “Hojo wanted to experiment on you before you were born, and Vincent fought him. And… it’s entirely possible Hojo actually murdered your birth parents and took you from them.”

That’s muddling it up a little bit – since his mom was involved in the experiments, and Cloud had already mentioned Vincent… but this is probably the easiest way to do it for now. Better than dumping it all on the man at once, … right?

There’s an eerily long moment where it looks like Sephiroth just stops moving entirely. He doesn’t so much as blink for fifty seconds – Cloud counts – and then suddenly stands all at once.

“I want those files,” He tells Zack, staring straight ahead. The SOLDIER gets it, standing at once. “Everything on the people and agents involved, the experiments, the missions associated with Nibelheim – all of it. And you,” He points at Cloud, gaze furrowing, and for a moment the blond is pretty sure he’s about to meet the business end of Masamune.

Maybe the fear is clear in his eyes. After a moment, Sephiroth’s gaze lightens, his rage calming into something tired, something worn. He sighs. “Just – stay with Lt. Fair, for now.” Then, the General is gone, and Cloud is finally able to breathe again.

After a minute, he breaks the silence. “Is he always like that?”

“Just about,” The other man comments with a wry chuckle. “Just about.”

* * *

  
No one ever told Sephiroth who his parents were.

Everything he believes about his past is an assumption – which he hates, but is forced to rely on. Suppositions and half-formed beliefs. Scientists work with facts, but then, Sephiroth is not truly a scientist… he is science. The monster to Hojo’s Dr. Frankenstein.

As a child, asking about his parents got him sharp glares, smacks, barbed replies. “I created you”, is the most Hojo will say of it. Sephiroth eventually took it to heart. ‘I created you’ is about as good as fatherhood, isn’t it?

He doesn’t call him father to his face. Everyone calls the man Dr. Hojo. But the scientist is the closest thing to a guardian Sephiroth has ever had. He is there in all his early memories. The labs, the tests, the field performances, the medical exams. He was always there. Isn’t that a father?

During the war, Sephiroth once saw a civilian throw himself in front of a Wutaian soldier. It was odd enough to make the General pause. The soldier had frozen, growing terrified, trying to make the older man move. But the old man’s eyes – determined, frightened, pained all at once. Sephiroth had stopped.

“Please,” the man had begged in Wutaese. “Please don’t kill my son.”

My son. Fatherhood. Is that what it is? Ownership? The bondage between generations?

Sephiroth broods on it as he storms through the halls of Shinra, trying to find an answer. No one asks for his badge or his authentication, not even here, in the bowels of the building. No one – until he comes to the lab he’s looking for.

“Uh, sir,” Two very nervous infantrymen stand in his way. “We’ve been given orders not to let anyone in here.”

He merely looks at one out of the corner of his eye. The man jumps. “I – I can’t, sir. Especially you.”

A slip, by the way the other elbows him. Especially him? “Hojo’s orders, I presume?” No one else could cow the people of Shinra like him – besides Sephiroth. Caught between a rock and a hard place, these two are, and Sephiroth almost smiles. They don’t try to stop him when he slides his card and enters the lab, anyway.

The door slides open and Sephiroth stops thinking about them. The lab is dark – almost cavern-like. He steps inside, the doors sliding behind him sealing out all the light.

Until two ruby pinpricks appear a good few meters ahead of him.

Sephiroth reaches out to flip on the light, but thinks better of it. He can see in the dark just fine; apparently, so can this man. The red gaze tracks him through the room as Sephiroth approaches, eying the stranger more carefully than he had before.

Rail thin, tall, long messy hair and taut, pale skin. He looks like a former experiment. Those red eyes certainly don’t seem natural. Neither does the aura around him – one of immense danger, darkness, and blood.

Yet… Sephiroth doesn’t feel as if it is aimed at him at all.

He circles the man, who has backed himself into a corner as best he can in the circular, see-through prison. It’s a sphere about ten feet wide at the most, and it is not comfortable. Sephiroth knows from experience.

This man… this “Vincent”… was imprisoned because of him?

There are pieces to this he is missing, Sephiroth knows. But he is a patient man. Still, what he knows already is enough to make him very curious about this Vincent. Why? Why had he stood up to Hojo? When so few people ever did – and clearly, their fears were rational given what happened to this man.

Sephiroth notices that though Vincent never moves, those red eyes keep following him. He comes to a halt in front of the sphere, hands behind his back, head up, yet… nervous.

Why? He wants to ask but he’s not exactly sure what the question is. Why did you stand up to Hojo? Or… why did you want to stop the experiments? Why…

Did you want to save me?

Clearly, it was simply moral grounds. Vincent disapproved of human experimentation most likely. A general disapproval of Hojo’s methods, not… personal involvement.

“You know who I am.” Usually, that is not a question Sephiroth has to ask. The man nods.

“… you have your mother’s eyes.”

The response shocks him to his core; yet, at the same time, confirms his disbelief. The fact that anyone would think to say this to him – that anyone would reference parents who might as well not exist – they are reference points he doesn’t have.

“That is not possible.” Sephiroth tries to sound victorious – he has disproved the man’s ruse. But he just sounds weary. “The color of my iris and shape of my pupil are due to years of exposure to mako and various other substances through Dr. Hojo’s experiments.”

“Not that,” The man says with a shake of his head. There’s something so certain, so sure in his gaze and pose, that makes Sephiroth feel uneasy. Unsure of himself. “The shape. Like almonds. And… that look you’re giving me, as if you can’t believe your eyes. The disbelief. Your brow furrows and little crinkles form around your eyes.” He chuckles a little, raspy and deep. “She used to look at me in much the same way.”

His certainty is shaking. The labs always make him uneasy but this time it is the subject in the cage that makes Sephiroth want to run far, far away. “It’s not possible,” He begins, simply because… why? Because he can’t fathom believing the one person he’s always thought of as family had betrayed him so deeply?

Or because he can’t hope for it to be true only for it to be a lie?

“I’m sorry,” The man murmurs. Sephiroth eyes him once more, heart pounding in his chest.

“So am I,” He manages to say, before he all but runs from the room.

* * *

  
“Find anything yet?”

Cloud scoffs, poking his head up through a cloud of dust and piles of paperwork. “If I find a thing other than a dead bug I’ll let you know.”

“Ew,” Zack, across the room, continues sorting through his stack. “This place is gross.” As he says it, he holds up a page that is – sticky, for some reason, and comes away from the rest of the stack with gooey mess attaching it to the next page. Sticking out his tongue, he decides that pile is a lost cause and shoves it away.

“How come Shinra’s file system sucks so bad?”

“It’s not this bad mostly.” Zack retorts across the room. “But this is all the old stuff no one bothers with. Everything from before we had computers and it all went digital. Nobody ever put it into the system, but nobody wanted to get rid of it either.”

“Unless somebody did.” Cloud mutters. “It’d be easy to take anything out of here and no one miss it.”

“Or just let it get lost in here.” Zack sighs, leaning back. “You’re right, this is a mess.” The hope of finding something dwindles with every passing minute, until finally, the brunette hears a cheer across the room. He sits up. “Find something?”

“Yeah, look!”

Zack leaps to his feet, bounding across the room to the blond. Cloud’s sitting cross legged on the floor, a file folder open in front of him. The tab on it reads simply “Nibelheim”.

“Hey, that’s something.” The SOLDIER sits down beside him. “Any mention of Hojo or Seph or that friend of yours?”

“Not yet,” Cloud shakes his head. “But there’s a lot here.” The man’s right – a stack half a foot thick sits within the folders that all are labeled “Nibelheim”.

“Well, grab em.” Zack says with a sigh. “I don’t know how much else we’ll find in here. Let’s head back to Seph with this much at least.”

Cloud isn’t quite as ready to give up – but he’s not exactly in charge. So he nods, gathers his find together, and follows after Zack.

They return to find Sephiroth prowling in his room. Cloud freezes in the doorway. The man is storming back and forth in front of his window, black coat billowing behind him, and for a moment Cloud has a vision of what Sephiroth as an angered enemy might look like.

‘Dear gods, don’t ever let him get that pissed at me,’ He thinks desperately. Then, he manages to step into the room, setting the stack of paper on the nearest flat surface.

“Found something,” Zack announces, which draws the other man’s attention. His eyes narrow further, and he storms over to the stack of paper. Cloud is all but bowled out of the way, like a fly swatted. He blinks, then scowls at Sephiroth’s back. The man isn’t even registering him – he’s focused on the stack of paper, swiping through it madly.

Fine, the blond thinks. He’s not going to start something now, when he’s so exhausted. After everything that’s happened, he could use a minute to breathe. So he sits down on Sephiroth’s couch and makes himself comfortable, boots on the pillows and everything, and thinks of it as his little revenge.

* * *

 

  
After Sephiroth leaves, Vincent lets his mind slip away into oblivion.

It hurts – it hurts so much. The man looks so much like his mother. It’s subtle, and perhaps Vincent is simply seeing what he wants to see, but – he can’t help but find hints of Lucrecia in him. The way he moves, his posture, his eyes. Gaia, he could almost see the way Lucrecia used to look when she was lost in a project, eyes narrowed in thought, hands behind her back, just thinking.

He weeps to think of what’s been done to this boy, what he failed to stop. A surge of fiery rage fills him, calls Chaos closer to the surface – Hojo. The man’s stench is all over this lab. He hasn’t been seen since their first reintroduction, and all Vincent has wanted since is to close his claws around the man’s greasy throat.

Vincent refuses to be a prisoner again. Last time, he could not save himself – could not save anyone. This time, he is stronger. This time, they are stronger. He won’t let Hojo have his way again. Somehow, he’ll find a way.

Voices come to him. Vincent rises to the surface, opens his eyes again, just to hear what’s being said. Two scientists have entered; they make no note of him. They are preoccupied with the strange orange lion in the other cage. “So, where’s the other one?” One asks.

“Other?”

“The blond. The one that attacked the General. Didn’t they put him in the labs?”

“Dunno. Haven’t seen him.”

Blonde. Cloud. Vincent’s fear and worry surge to the surface and he keens quietly. His escape is more urgent now. Before, he had been inclined to wait, to bid his time. But now… if Cloud is in Shinra’s grasp, there is nothing that Vincent will not do to save him. He’ll tear the building to the ground.

 

* * *

 

He’s dreaming – or, reliving a memory. That night, under the stars. Tifa making him promise, to come back and be her hero. He promises he will. He wants to try at least. But he also remembers thinking…

Who’s going to save me?

Bleary eyes blink open. He’s not home; this isn’t Nibelheim. Sitting up, Cloud sees Sephiroth’s apartment spread before him, and the man himself, still sitting at the kitchen counter, the contents of those files spread before him. Somehow, Cloud knows the man’s been hunched over studying them for a long time. His back is tense and stiff, pose rigid to the point of painful. Cloud’s heart aches for him.

He knows what it is to not have a father – but to not have anything, or anyone… to be so unrooted, without history… it must be painful. Especially for the most powerful man in the world, so used to being in control of everything… Cloud’s earlier frustration melts away beneath sympathy. He stands, unsure whether to approach or not.

It occurs to him for the millionth time that this is Sephiroth, the man he spent his childhood adoring. His first crush. The guy Cloud had his first naughty dream about - dontthinkaboutit. Flushing, Cloud glances away, once again caught in the surreal quality of the situation.

Eventually he steels himself and steps forward. “Need some help?”

Sephiroth glances at him from behind silver bangs, and after a moment, nods. He slides a stack of paper Cloud’s way, and the blond takes a seat. The lights in the room are dim; there’s no sign of Zack or anyone else. Cloud gulps. They’re alone.

Antsy, he settles into his seat and opens the file. “Uh, find anything interesting?”

“Some.” Sephiroth gestures to a small stack laid in front, which he had clearly marked as important. There are colored tags sticking out of it, highlighter marks on all the pages. The man has a system clearly. Cloud, unsure of how to respond, just nods. Time to get on with it.

He’s quiet as he works – but he can’t just ignore the presence of the other man. Fidgeting, he reads. His knee bounces beneath the table. After a few minutes of that, he hears a sigh. Cloud glances up.

With one elbow on the table, Sephiroth is leaning into his hand, hard eyes glaring at Cloud. “Must you?” The blond looks confused. Sephiroth’s gaze darts down, then back up meaningfully.

“What?”

“Your movement is distracting.”

Oh. Cloud slows to a halt, embarrassed. “Sorry, I – “

“I realize your sexual attraction to me is a factor but at this point your help is more of a hindrance if you cannot control it.”

Cloud blinks. “What!?” Flustered, he spurts, “I’m not –“

“When I am in the room, your eyes dilate and your pulse grows rapidly,” Sephiroth comments like he’s talking about the weather. Eyes down, he keeps reading, flipping to another page. “You grow flushed, anxious, and unable to keep still due to your energy levels, which may be naturally high or increased due to mako exposure.”

He blinks again. A small voice in his head is trying to warn him, but it is too quiet beneath the wave of fury that’s surging over him. Face red, fists clenched, Cloud forces his gaze down to the paper. But he can’t quite control his mouth. “Are you always this awful to people who’re trying to help you?” He’s fuming, teeth clenched tight, as he reads.

“… was I not supposed to comment upon that?”

That’s… not the reaction Cloud was expecting. Looking up again, he sees pure confusion on Sephiroth’s face; not derision, not a dismissive glance. Cloud’d thought the man was making fun of him, but… he looks so …

“I apologize; conversation is not my forte,” Sighing, the man glances back down at the paper. “Perhaps I should simply work alone. You may retire to the guest room if you wish.”

“No, I,” Anger abated somewhat, Cloud sighs. “I’ll stay. And…” Still embarrassed, he tries to smile. “I’ll try and keep my attraction under wraps.” It’s a weak joke, but Sephiroth manages a smile. “You’ll have to try to be less attractive, though.”

“How do I manage that when I don’t know how I became ‘attractive’ in the first place?” He huffs as if this is a question that has actually bothered him. “It would solve many problems for me.” He sounds so damned annoyed and sincere that Cloud can only laugh.

“Sorry, it’s just,” he waves it off. “That’s not a complaint most people have. Though I guess you aren’t most people.”

“Hm,” Sephiroth hums, before setting the papers down. “Neither are you.” He looks up. “You realize I have never been physically tossed by anyone before?”

Cloud blinks. “Huh?”

“In the city. You lifted me over your head and body slammed me into the ground.” Sephiroth starts to smirk at the dull horror in Cloud’s expression.

“I did what?”

“I had to cast a sleep spell on you to stop you.” Sephiroth leans forward slightly, hands beneath his chin. “Very few people in this world have ever been my physical equal, and I do believe all of them are dead.”

“I – I’m not –“ Shocked, Cloud snaps his gaping mouth shut. “I’m not your equal.”

“Hmm,” Sephiroth glances down again. “Have you ever been trained in combat?”

“A little,” Cloud shuffles his feet. He can’t help it – he can’t just sit still. “Vincent’s trained me in general combat some. My mom used to be a swordswoman, and she’s given me some pointers. But she’s older now so it’s not the same.”

“No formal training then.” Sephiroth comments. “Yet you tossed most of my 2nd class SOLDIERS aside easily, as well as overcoming me.”

Cloud’s chest is hot, practically on fire.

“And the Mako?” The General continues.

“That was an accident.” He insists. “Well – a lot of accidents. The area Vincent was trapped in was part of an old Shinra lab, and I was in there a lot. It got in my wounds sometimes, or on my skin – I guess over the years I just adapted to it.”

“Years of Mako exposure, and who knows what else given what Shinra does…” Sephiroth murmurs. “You may well be at the physical level of a SOLDIER 1st class; you simply lack the training.”

“I – I’m not,” Cloud stands finally, backing away. “I can’t be – that. I’m just me.” Shaking his head, he huffs. “This isn’t about me, anyway, this is about you and Vincent!”

“Is it?” Sephiroth’s brow is quirked and Cloud’s heart skips a beat. Did he say something? Why is Sephiroth staring at him like he just let something slip?

He doesn’t have the time to wonder – in the next instant, the night silence is shattered by a blaring siren.


	4. Behemoth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cloud has a grand ole time fighting laboratory monsters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe the response I've gotten to this fic. I'm amazed! It's been a long time since so many people took such enthusiastic interest in my work. 
> 
> Not only that, but one of my favorite Cloud/Seph and FFVII writers likes my work?? Icyboots you are amazing and thanks so much for reading and bookmarking!!!! C:
> 
> Also, check out a sketch of Cloud being annoyed and gay over on my tumblr. http://metal-x-chocobo-x.tumblr.com/post/137436176598/warm-up-doodle-have-a-cloud-from-my-fanfic

As a child, Cloud had constantly been told to stay away from Shinra Manor. He listened – until the day he decided to go inside anyway.

And when Vincent had told him no, he did not want to be rescued, Cloud had listened for all of six seconds before deciding to help in spite of the man.

And when Tifa had been hurt and her father had forbidden Cloud from seeing her, well, he hadn’t really paid the man any mind at all.

Suffice to say that when the siren blared and Sephiroth ran off shouting, “Stay here”, Cloud did not listen.

* * *

 

  
He counts to five. Counts very, very slowly. Then, when he’s almost entirely sure Sephiroth has to be gone by now, Cloud bolts out of the apartment.

He slides to a halt in the hall, red lights flashing all around, the siren roaring in his ears, and makes an entirely random decision as to which way to run. The way he sees it, eventually the chaos and confusion should point him in the right direction to go.

He’s not exactly sure what’s happening, but he can guess. The building’s under attack. Shinra, already in the shitter, is now panicking even further. A panicky, confused Shinra is good for Cloud. Now, maybe he has a chance to look for Vincent on his own.

Well, for starters, he can’t stay on this floor. There’s no way Vincent’s on the executive floor. Which means…

“Stairs,” The man groans, hanging his head. He doesn’t have a keycard for the elevator, so – stairs it is. “Ugh!”

* * *

 

  
Sephiroth moves with purpose and swiftness few can match. By the time people notice him coming, he’s already passed them. A silver blur streaks through the Shinra Building, towards his destination.

Because he knows exactly what has happened. Shinra has distinct sirens for every emergency, and this one is for escaped lab experiments. The timing is too perfect. Vincent has escaped his cell, and Sephiroth refuses to let anyone else arrive down there first.

‘Vincent and I,’ He thinks, brow furrowing. ‘He said it was about us…’ What was this thread, this thin line between them, pulling them towards each other? What was Cloud keeping from him?

Fuming, Sephiroth speeds up, barreling down the stairs instead of taking the elevator. When he finally arrives at the proper floor, his speed is so great that slowing down dismantles the tile floor beneath him. But he does come to a halt, just in time to see cowering scientists fleeing for their lives, their screams echoing all around as bullets ricochet.

The general infantry who were assigned to guard the floor are there; as are the scientists who were already on this floor. No one else; so, Sephiroth is first. And there is the demon again, barely bothered by the bullets flying towards it. Even in the strictly tight space it outmaneuvers them, but – doesn’t kill them.

No; it saves death for the scientists. With a bestial roar the creature falls upon another one, who shrieks in horror as fangs tear into his neck. This shocks one of the infantrymen so he cries out, drops his gun and flees for his life.

But his life was never in danger, if the general’s theory holds true. Sephiroth scowls; he recognizes the bloody remains of the man Vincent has just mauled as a particularly weasel-y fellow named Crispin Mauser. A man who used to laugh when a young Sephiroth commented that the Mako injections made him feel like bugs were crawling under his skin.

“Maybe they are,” The man would say, looming over him. “Maybe they’re going to pop out of you any minute – or eat you up from the inside!” And he would laugh and wriggle his hands at the boy, scratching his skin like little insects until the child cried. Then Hojo would show up and dismiss him and smack Sephiroth for displaying unseemly emotions.

“You are better than him,” Father said. “You are better than these puny creatures. They are the insects, you’ll see.”

It hadn’t made him feel any better.

Scowling, Sephiroth turned his gaze from the corpse to the winged beast before him. Red eyes finally notice him, and the beast hovers nearby, not moving, just staring at him.

“Go,” Sephiroth steps forward, dismissing the infantry with a nod of his head. Most of them are already running, along with the last of the scientists, until Sephiroth and Vincent are alone.

The world shrinks. Yes, the sirens are still blaring, and there’s also the screeching of damaged computers and sparking electronics. Sephiroth chooses not to hear or see it. His gaze narrows to this anomaly, this peculiar man who has done what no one else has ever thought to try.

Sephiroth steps forward. The creature stays still. It’s only a foot off the ground now, and the General barely has to look up at it.

_You protected me._

He reaches a gloved hand out, slowly telegraphing his moves. The last thing he wants is to startle it.

_Why?_

Sharp red eyes meet green, and the creature makes a strange noise. “It’s alright,” Sephiroth finds himself saying. Then, the creature growls a little.

“Ckh-“ Unruly fangs and a forked tongue seem to be making it hard for the creature – for Vincent – to talk. “Cchold. Whrr Chold?” It sounds like a screeching cat trying to talk but Sephiroth gets the jist.

“Cloud is safe. He’s not in the labs.” Sephiroth shakes his head. There’s no reason for the beast to trust him, yet something in those ruby eyes softens. Another perplexing mystery. “I can take you to him –“

“He is not going anywhere.”

In an instant, the moment of humanity is gone and the beast snarls, turning its attention to the newcomer to the room. Hojo stands at the opposite door, hands behind his back, his gaze obscured by the reflective glare.

“Sir,” Sephiroth’s heart skips a beat. He doesn’t know how to feel about Hojo – when does he ever? – but this is the only man he’s ever called family. “You need to leave the area immediately -!” He steps forward, but it’s too late.

The demon shrieks and flies so fast that even Sephiroth can’t match it. But it’s no use – Hojo, as usual, came prepared. A shield materia, master level most likely, springs to life around him, and the demon seems to hurt itself more slamming into it than anything. A wry chuckle escapes the scientist.

“Come now, Mr. Valentine,” The scientist grins. “Do you think me so foolish?”

They know each other. Sephiroth glances from the pure hatred in the gaze of one, and the amused glee in the other. There’s no denying it, his sinking heart realizes. There is history here.

Vincent remains where he landed, still a demon, crouched upon the ground with his claws digging into the floor. For a moment he hesitates, then appears to decide to try again, when Hojo speaks.

“Ah, ah.” The man smirks. “After all, you wouldn’t want anything to happen to your little partner?” The smirk becomes a sneer. A robotic creature rolls up beside the scientist, with a small grainy screen showing footage from within the Shinra building. There’s someone running, running through the halls with a monstrous creature close on their tail.

Sephiroth realizes it just as the demon gives a pained gasp beside him. To his surprise, he feels his own chest tighten anxiously.

_Cloud._

* * *

 

  
Word is, something broke out of the labs. Of course, it can never just be one with Shinra, because once one thing breaks out, it causes chaos and destruction and a bunch of other things get out. Most of them have already been contained to a single floor and are being herded together, according to what Cloud’s overheard.

Most, apparently, save for the giant Behemoth chasing after him.

“Out of the way!”

People shriek as Cloud runs past, practically shoving them aside in his haste. This is not a creature you want to fight in a crowded hall. He knows that much. Luckily, he’s got his sword – it was with him when he went into town, and Shinra never took it from him – but he doesn’t want to fight it here.

How the damned thing got fixated on him, Cloud can’t fathom. It’s the hair, he thinks with a frown, it’s always the goddamn hair. He has always had the strangest, spikiest hair known to man. Bright blond, standing on end, save for his long ponytail in the back. He’s been growing it out for years, a habit that started out of envy for Sephiroth’s beautiful long locks. Now, he’s thinking it’s the only thing that sets him apart from everyone else, save maybe a lack of uniform.

“What’s this thing got against civilians?” He grumbles, leaping over a fallen intern who’d tripped running away. Desperately Cloud hopes he’s not leaving bodies in his wake. But he can’t stop to check; he’s got to keep moving. Somewhere there has to be a gym, a cafeteria, a lobby – something other than halls!

Finally, the man grins, and slides to a halt in a giant rotunda. The glass ceiling looms high above, an octagonal shape more than a hundred feet wide. It’s a huge room, and is more than enough for Cloud.

He sets to move and face his opponent, when for a second his gaze is distracted. There are SOLDIERs across the room, dealing with another beast. But like the Behemoth, Cloud recognizes its type. His eyes widen.

“Stop!” He calls to them, but no one’s listening. Grimacing, he glances back. The Behemoth is not far behind. Then he turns to the SOLDIERs again, barreling towards them. “I said stop!”

They don’t seem to realize he exists until he collides with the first two, his shoulder knocking hard into the back of one. He goes down; and the creature in the center of the chaos turns to face Cloud.

Cloud looks straight at it. “Quick,” He says, backing up, creating an opening. “Run!”

The orange lion-like creature’s eyes widen; then, he nods, and races away from the SOLDIERs. The humans immediately turn on Cloud. Two try to take after the cat. Cloud sticks out his leg, tripping one, before finally putting his hand to the hilt of his blade.

The blade sings as it slides out of the sheath. Cloud grins at the sound. It’s a relatively long blade, maybe five or six feet, with strange groves, twists, and turns in it, as if it’s made of layers of metal. His hands go to the hilt. Then, he twists. The blade breaks apart into more blades, and he takes one of the small ones in his left hand, and tosses it hilt-first at the running SOLDIER. It knocks into the back of his head and he’s conked out.

Cloud smiles at the small victory, even as more SOLDIERs surround him – but it’s a short-lived victory. The Behemoth gives a roar as it charges into the area, immediately setting its sights on Cloud.

“Damn!” The man grimaces and rolls as it comes through, using the chaos to slip out of the circle of SOLDIERs. Two of them don’t make it out of the circle – the Behemoth takes the group by surprise, one caught in its trampling paws, the other hit by the broadside of it and knocked away.

Frowning, he darts over to his other blade, snapping it back into the whole. “Okay,” He murmurs, standing tall. Cloud takes a very deep breath. Nibelheim has some tough monsters on its outskirts, even a small dragon from time to time, but Cloud’s never faced anything so big. Holding the sword, he faces the creature as it turns, slowing its pace, seeming to realize its prey has been cornered.

Cloud’s biding his time – backing away slowly, eying the creature. It’s slightly wounded, a slash to one shoulder, and to the lower left leg. But it’s not winded at all, and there’s a feverish glint to its eye. This thing is mako-crazy, or Cloud’s a chocobo.

The man grunts, gripping the sword tighter, trying to ignore the thundering of his heart. He’s terrified… and exhilarated. Sweat slips into his eyes and he shakes it away. His whole life, all Cloud’s wanted is to be useful, to be worth something. He’s trained for it for years. And now, here he is, facing a Behemoth, with a lot of people’s lives on the line.

He can do this.

The beast is distracted momentarily when a SOLDIER lunges for its back leg. The man is distraught – he’s screaming, clearly upset and not thinking. Before Cloud can shout to him a warning, the thing kicks out with its back legs. A wet thunk, and its back claws are embedded in the man’s chest.

One of the SOLDIERs runs off screaming. The other… who the hell knows where he is? “Some military,” Cloud grumbles, beginning to understand Sephiroth’s complaints about the company. Still, he holds his ground, sword raised, faces the beast.

‘Calm down,’ He manages to think behind the haze over his mind. ‘Deep breaths.’ In, … out. In, …

Cloud moves. The beast responds with a screech, racing forward to swipe with its claws, but Cloud ducks, rolls with the motion, and on the turn swipes with his sword at the extended arm. He cuts pretty deep into the flesh, not severing the limb like he’d wanted, but damaging it. The Behemoth roars in fury, and Cloud gets back to his feet, running from a pain-enraged beast.

The creature lunges at him – he hits the ground, one hand bracing his fall, letting it soar overhead. Lifts his blade – hits a button, it falls apart into two different, long blades. One in each hand, he swipes at the creature’s underbelly.

More pained screams, but it’s not down for the count. This thing eyes are glowing; where a normal Behemoth would’ve been scared off by now, ready to find easier prey, this one refuses to back down.

“What did they do to you?” Cloud wonders, snapping his blade back together. Only a moment later, the creature lunges again, this time too close for Cloud to fall in time.

He’d seen it coming – and when the blades were one again, he hit a button and released a smaller blade. He threw it diagonally from him, then spun and ran at the wall. Using it to propel himself upwards and sideways, he leapt at the blade he’d thrown. It had become lodged in the wall, and became a handhold for Cloud to grab.

The beast gives an agonized roar at being robbed of its kill. Cloud, meanwhile, is getting the workout of his life. And it feels great.

Beaming, he positions his feet on the wall, still holding the sword, and kicks out, setting it free. He backflips towards the ground, landing on his feet a good fifty feet away from the beast. It comes towards him – he turns, pushes a button on his sword -

And nothing happens.

Cloud’s eyes go wide. “No, not now,” Finger jamming into the button he curses but nothing happens. The blade is stuck, half transformed and entirely useless.

A roar rips across the room and Cloud gasps, looking up – the beast is almost on him –

An orange blur slams into the beast’s neck with a roar of his own. Cloud’s gaze widens further at the sight of the large feline, sinking teeth and claws into the Behemoth’s vulnerable throat. The monster keens, thrashing in an attempt to get free.

There’s not a moment to waste. Gritting his teeth, Cloud reaches in and untangles the mechanism, and a moment later, the swords part with a satisfying hiss. He grins, holding the slightly curved blade in his left, the longer in his right.

Then, he waits. Stands with narrowed eyes, watching the beast thrash. The cat is thrown from him, and the recoil of the movement throws the beast’s head back, long neck vulnerable.

One sword extended behind him, one ahead. He steps forward with his back foot, turning into the move. The back sword arm twists around his body, he turns, the other arm spins around his body, he turns, and builds momentum until he’s close enough to take a small leap into the air, spinning with his arms extended, both blades slicing through the beast’s neck once, twice, three times.

He can practically hear his mother’s voice.

Big things like Behemoths, they’re tough kiddo. That hide is too thick to get through with one hit or even two. You gotta strike the same place multiple times to do anything to them. That’s the tricky part – getting enough hits in. Once that’s done, it’s over.

The beast falls with one last long groan. The whole room shakes when it crashes into the floor. Relieved, Cloud stands, sliding his sword back into one piece and into his sheath before releasing a breathless laugh.

“… is it over?” The cat walks over and talks to him.

“Yeah,” Cloud nods. He turns to the creature. “Cloud Strife.”

The cat looks at him quizzically. “… you may call me Nanaki.” He says. Then, he tilts his head. “How did you know…?”

“My mom took me to Cosmo Canyon, once.” He says, with an easy shrug. “She couldn’t get me to shut up about the talking cats for months after that.”

At his comment, Cloud’s pretty sure he sees the cat smile.

* * *

 

  
Sephiroth releases the breath he doesn’t remember holding when the beast falls.

Half of him had wanted to go to the man’s aid – the other had wanted to wait, if only to see what Cloud would do. He did not disappoint. Displaying physical strength beyond the mere human, and both technical and tactical fortitude, the man appeared to be a natural at swordfighting. Certainly, it had been close, but Cloud had won.

“Hm,” Hojo frowns. “Another failure. And I had been looking forward to seeing it tear apart your little friend.”

Sephiroth’s chest tightens at the words and he frowns. Not that Hojo doesn’t say stuff like that all the time. It just – hurts hearing it. Sephiroth can’t imagine feeling that way. His father has always encouraged emotional detachment, but even then, Sephiroth could not say he enjoyed taking life. Sure, he loved fighting and combat but actually taking sentient life…

_Why is father smiling about this?_

“Professor, that is enough.” Sephiroth retorts. “The show is over, and this man is coming with me.”

“He is not going anywhere.” Hojo steps forward, glancing to Vincent with a grin. “Ah, tired already?”

The General turns. Vincent is groaning, curling into himself and shrinking in size. The demon wings fade away, the fangs recede, all signs of monstrosity vanishing until all that’s left is an exhausted, sweaty human. The man collapses, and at once the professor and the general move. Hojo makes to snatch the man up, and Sephiroth stands in his way.

“Out of the way, General,” The man sneers the word, reminding Sephiroth of his place. It doesn’t sway the man.

“He’s coming with me.” Sephiroth insists. Then he quirks an eyebrow. “Unless you’re going to stop me?”

The other man’s gaze hardens. He hadn’t expected this much resistance – because Sephiroth doesn’t resist him on much. But they both know that there’s no way Hojo can force Sephiroth to back down.

Satisfied that the man is cowed, Sephiroth kneels and gently gathers Vincent in his arms.

“He is not under your jurisdiction.” Hojo mutters to Sephiroth’s back as the man saunters away.

“Take it up with the President,” is Sephiroth’s final quip, before he disappears into the elevator.

* * *

 

  
He’s barely had the chance to stand up and breath before another body barrels into him.

Cloud reels, exhausted, but reacts instinctively with a punch towards the face. Luckily, the other man is good at ducking, and the sound he makes in reaction is familiar enough to make Cloud pause. He blinks; the haze clears, and he sees Zack, hands up, beaming.

“Cloud! You’re amazing!” Once again, those arms are around his neck, pulling him in tight for a noogie. The man flushes, unsure how to feel – he’d expect the actions from a bully, but the words are kind. Zack lets him go only to put his hands on the man’s shoulders. “I can’t believe you took that thing on by yourself!”

Shrugging, Cloud tries to ignore his pounding heart. “I just – wanted to help.” By now, he’s red to the tips of his ears.

“I know, I saw on the live feed.” He points to a camera across the way. “Security had it airing on the teleprompter. I came running fast as I could but by the time I was here you’d already kicked its ass!”

Cloud shrugs again. But this time there’s a small smile on his face. “I had help.” He glances past Zack to Nanaki, who is eying the SOLDIER warily.

“Well, anyway, we gotta run.” Zack glances from the cat, back to Cloud. “A lot’s happened since this morning. Your stuff from the hotel is here.”

“Really? Where?” He hadn’t seen anything.

“It got – waylaid.” Zack frowns. “Luckily, the Turks are more loyal to Seph than they are Hojo. I’ve got the location. Come on,” He gestures for Cloud to follow, and the blond makes to do so, before glancing back at Nanaki.

“You coming?”

The cat quirks his head inquisitively, and doesn’t move. But when Cloud runs off, he hears four heavy paws hitting the ground behind him.

* * *

 

  
Genetics are a complicated field of study. Sephiroth can’t claim to have a masterful understanding of it, but his personal research has taught him some things. He knows enough to get by, he imagines, in most intellectual conversations.

Enough that ever since he was a boy, he’s looked in the mirror and wondered. Hojo might have been his father but they looked nothing alike. Sephiroth simply imagined he must have favored his mother very much. He’d spend hours looking in the mirror trying to imagine a woman like him, someone from whom he might have inherited his graceful stature, his thin bony structure, the long lines and curves of his face, the soft sheen of his hair.

The woman in the picture in the folder is… hard to compare to. It’s a blurry old polaroid, from back before digital cameras existed. He can see she has long hair, up in a ponytail, and she does seem to be relatively tall, though not as tall as him. But it’s so old and grainy it’s really hard to tell.

Lucrecia Crescent. The file states she is “missing”. No sign of her in thirty years. He murdered your parents and took you from them. Sephiroth doesn’t want to believe, but… he’s starting to. The paper crinkles in his ever tightening grip.

He flips to the next page. He’s already read them all, and memorized them, but there’s something calming in the repetition. Vincent Valentine. The image is grainy here as well, but then, Sephiroth doesn’t need it. The real thing is sleeping on his couch.

Sephiroth glances up across his room, to the sleeping man. He’d taken off the cloak and shirt, in order to access the man’s wounds. Vincent heals almost as rapidly as Sephiroth, but he’d never been treated for the bullet wounds from the original attack. It had begun healing with the bullets inside, and it had been a trying task fixing it.

Now, he’s healing properly, bandages wrapped around his torso, a blanket pulled over him. He seems to be resting well enough. But restlessness itches under Sephiroth’s skin. He wants – wants to give the man something to help, wants to make him something to eat, or drink, or – something. He’s never had this driving need to care for someone before, but…

He looks at the file.

6’2”. The man is Sephiroth’s exact height. Their hair color might not be the same, but while treating Vincent’s wounds, he’d found it to be the same thick shimmering style of his own.

Hojo’s hair is… disgusting. Not that the man ever cares for it. It’s wiry, thin, and constantly falling out.

Setting down the file, Sephiroth stands and moves towards the man. His eyes trace Vincent’s features. The long thin nose, the high cheek bones, deep set eyes and high forehead. Gently, Sephiroth slips his fingers under the bandanna and loosens it, until he sees the man’s face with no barriers between them. Almost naturally, Vincent’s hair parts in much the same way Sephiroth’s does, with two long bangs on either side of his face.

Sephiroth drops the bandanna as if it were alive. He stands, pacing to the window.

He knows genetics. He knows enough to realize that it has always been very unlikely that Hojo was biologically his father. He just… hoped. He wanted it to be true, for there to be one person in this world to call his own.

Now… he’s almost certain he does, and it’s not who he thought. The revelation… it’s too much for him to understand how he feels about it. The shock has overtaken everything else.

The door to his apartment opens.

“ – So I figure, he can at least fly back with us to Nibelheim when we leave, so he can cross over to Cosmo Canyon there. It’ll be a lot easier –“

Cloud’s voice filters into the room, with Zack quickly following it. Sephiroth tunes them out. One word rings in his mind, one word as he crosses his arms, brow furrowing.

“We’re leaving.” He says finally, turning around. He notices Nanaki, the cat he saw assisting Cloud in the security footage, but makes no verbal note of him. “Zack, you’re in charge until I return.”

“Wait, what’s going on?” Cloud glances between the two SOLDIERs, until Sephiroth steps towards him.

“You,” He begins. “Are coming with me.”

The blond blinks. “Coming where?”

“To Nibelheim.”

* * *

 

  
_Someone is… crying. He straightens, listening for the source. Footsteps echo like chimes in the long dim halls, alongside gasping sobs from further away. Who is…_

_He moves into the light. She’s there, hunched over in the grass, sobbing into her knees. Lucrecia. Vincent makes to run to her and hesitates only at the last moment. Grits his teeth, clenches his fist. But he still goes to her._

_She notices him only when the glossy shine of his shoes catches her eye. He’s standing beside her, gazing out into the woods, the picture of a detached agent. Sniffling, the woman wipes at her eyes._

_“W – What is it, Vincent?” She should call him Mr. Valentine. She had cut off their personal ties, after all. But he could never bring himself to say so._

_After a moment, he glances at her. “Are you alright?”_

_Her eyes widen. Lucrecia glances away, eyes out to the forest. “No, I’m not,” She admits softly. “But you probably wouldn’t want to hear it.”_

_“No?”_

_“You warned me after all.”_

_“Hm.”_

_She shifts forward, arms wrapped around her knees. “… I was intrigued by the science at first.” She tells him. “Imagine, if humans could combine with J cells properly… no more disease. No more aging. We could cure death, eventually.”_

_“You needn’t argue your case with me.” She already had, after all. That had been their last argument._

_“Yes, well, …” She sniffles, wipes at her face. “Don’t I owe you an explanation?”_

_Vincent sighs, weary. After a moment the man sits beside her, reaching out with a handkerchief. Lucrecia seems surprised, but only hesitates a moment before taking it._

_“Thank you,” She murmurs, wiping at her face. After a moment, her look falls, arms lowering. “… it was just a fetus. Not a life, not yet. I thought… if it worked it could do so much good. And if not, well… it’s not human. Not yet, really. But Hojo, he – he wants to do more experiments. I’m at seventh months already, and he still –“_

_“Human, inhuman, living, dead,” Vincent shakes his head. “To Hojo, it doesn’t matter.”_

_“It should!” She insists. With a huff, her gaze fall. “How come I didn’t notice that about him before?”_

_“You were distressed.” Vincent sighs, tempted to reach out to her, but keeping his distance. “The mind can make excuses and rationalizations for many things when it wants to.”_

_“Maybe.” Sighing, Lucrecia wipes one more time at her eyes. “You know he doesn’t want to name the child?” Vincent gives a nasty sneer at that. “He keeps calling him ‘Project J’.” Fuming, the woman shakes her head. “But that’s fine. I’ll just name him myself.”_

_“Have you chosen a name yet?”_

_At that, her look brightens. She beams at her companion. “I have a few in mind,” She begins, turning towards him slightly. “What do you think of…”_

_Sephiroth._

* * *

  
“Sephiroth, come on, let me drive!”

“Absolutely not.”

Groaning, Vincent opens his eyes. The world is bright and overwhelming for a moment until the glare clears away. Then something moves in the way of the overhead lights, grinning at him.

“Vincent, you’re alright!” Cloud beams at him, and at the sight Vincent can feel himself relaxing for the first time in days.

“Cloud, you –“He sits up. They’re in a Shinra helicopter, and behind Cloud he can see a SOLDIER, a large feline creature, and –

“We relieved you of Shinra’s custody.” The helicopter’s pilot, Sephiroth, shouts over the noise. “In a few short hours we should be in Nibelheim.”

Relieved…? “Why?” Vincent asks, brow cocked. “You don’t know me.”

“He knows better than you think,” Cloud says. “I talked to them. About his mom, and… you know,” he shrugs, clearly nervous about mentioning the mansion. Then, leaning in, whispers, “I think he wants to see the lab himself.”

That doesn’t surprise Vincent. Sephiroth seems like a shrewd, intelligent man. So much like his mother. Flashes of memory come to him, impressions of the hours he spent as Chaos, and he sees – he sees Sephiroth’s face. Not afraid, not angry, but…

“It’s alright.”

Vincent lays back down, settling in to wait. But he doesn’t sleep; he thinks… and he remembers, and questions what those memories might mean.


	5. Small Town Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The return to Nibelheim does not go entirely smoothly.

Very little in Jean Strife’s life had been planned. She wasn’t really the planning type. Too much time and preparation. If she wanted something, she went for it. If there was something interesting to do, she did it. And if there was an attractive man hinting things in her direction, well, she fucked him.

(And make note: she _fucked_ him. There was no lovemaking here.)

There had been no plan. (And no protection.) He’d been a client, somebody from Cosmo Canyon paying for a guardian to get them safely to Mideel. A fun road trip, all things considered, and by the end of it they’d fucked no less than five times.

It wasn’t an emotional thing. He was fun and all. Nice, as far as that went. Smoking hot. But by the end, Jean Strife took her earnings, waved over her shoulder, and took off for home, bothered by it none whatsoever. It had been fun and profitable for everyone involved, what more was there to think about?

Of course, 10 weeks and no periods later, there was something to think about.

Jean’s first thought had been, _what would bother the village more: aborting the baby, or actually having it?_ And on the tails of that, she knew she was going to keep it. The fact was, having a child… it sounded… good.

She’d done the rest of it, after all. Left home early, traveled, worked as a soldier and a scavenger, a blacksmith and a bartender, come home only to keep working as a swordswoman here, there, and everywhere. She’d seen her share of the world.

What she hadn’t done, was settle down with some bozo and pop out a few. All the girls in Nibelheim were doing it. Raise a little bumpkin, take care of them until they were older, then kick them out of the house, and have their little bumpkin grandkids over on weekends. A family.

She hadn’t had one of those, yet.

So, Jean Strife kept the baby. Nine months and 14 excruciating hours later, Cloud Strife was born into the world. He was a screechy, scrawny thing but he was hers. Her son. Nothing else mattered, not the good opinion of the people of Nibelheim, not her reputation, not the father, nothing. She took one look at that tiny, squealing red face cutie and fell completely in love.

Course, there was trouble. He was a Strife after all – it came with the name. Cloud had a temper like his mother, without the brawn to back it up. The boy was puny. But momma could fix that; she trained him in every discipline she knew, taught him everything she’d learned, from yoga and meditation to kickboxing and judo.

Swords were his favorite, of course, just like Momma. Unlike her, the boy favored a monstrous claymore that looked comical next to his tiny frame. The first one he picked out in the store at age seven he couldn’t even lift. The poor thing had about stabbed his toe trying. She’d gotten him into endurance training then, hiking the mountains, running the trails with him. In no time that sword was his.

Still looked ridiculous, though – but he loved it. So much so he wanted to drop out of school and take up swordsmanship like her. No surprise – it was what she’d done, but for the first time in her life Momma Strife found herself making plans.

“No, kiddo,” She’d told him, ruffling that fluffy head. It made no damn sense, how that hair worked – and she’d never know. It certainly didn’t come from her. “You stay in school.”

Oh, how he’d pouted. How those bright blue eyes had begged. But by her age Jean knew what an education could do for you, even one as piss-poor as the Nibelheim Public School system. In school Cloud stayed, and he got bullied, and he got in trouble for fighting, and he grew taller and broader and brighter eyed the more years passed. Never had many friends – the Strife family curse. But they had each other, and once he was big enough for the wider world, the things they’d see.

She had plans. Oh, Momma Strife had plans.

But there was a reason to not make plans, because things always happened, things always got in the way. You get older and your sword arm starts to shake, and your knee starts to give way, and those wounds don’t heal as fast as they used to. And as her boy got taller, she began to shrink, and by the time he was sixteen, she retired altogether.

Cloud had been devastated. Their weekly hunts were the highlight of his life, she knew, but – she just couldn’t do it anymore. Jean Strife was getting old.

Life went on; Cloud kept hunting on his own, and Momma trained him as best she could, in everything she knew. The two of them got on well enough. One winter Jean caught a cough that never seemed to go away again. Not only could she no longer work as a freelance swordswoman, she really couldn’t work at all. Cloud became the sole breadwinner, earning as much as he could from freelance work to cover general expenses and medical bills.

He tried getting a job in town. But being the gay bastard son of the local town weirdo did not endear him to people. The only place that even considered him was Jerry’s Bar, but it… didn’t work out. Too many drunks and loose lips.

And the years had gone by. Cloud worked, and he grew taller, and he traveled further and further from home, and he explored and fought and tinkered and created and blew past all her plans and expectations. He was brilliant. And she couldn’t love him more.

Even when he went and brought home General Sephiroth out of fucking nowhere for dinner.

* * *

  
“Hi, ma,”

“Don’t you ‘Hi ma’, me,” Jean Strife grunts, glowering slightly. Despite the tone, she is sincerely pleased to see him, though the extra two threw her off a bit. Vincent, of course, she expected. “Git in already, the neighbors are staring.”

With that, she steps out of the door frame, leaning heavily on a cane, moving further into the house.

“Are you certain our being here is appropriate?” Sephiroth asks. “We can go to the Inn –“

“No, really, it’s fine.” Cloud waves him off. “The Inn is crappy and tiny and full of bed bugs. Don’t worry; Ma’s like that with everyone.”

“Don’t expect me to stand to attention, General,” The woman says as they walk in, clearly having overheard. “By the time you’re a mother my age, all the grown men in the world are just boys in bigger britches.”

“Good evening, ma’am,” Zack murmurs nervously. “Thanks for having us, uh, rather unexpectedly.”

“I tried callin’.” Cloud shrugs. “You never answer the phone.”

“That’s cause you only let it ring two damn times, by the time I get over there –“

“Well if you’d buy more than one house phone –“

“You only gotta pick up one phone, it’s a waste of money.”

“Is this… normal?” Sephiroth murmurs quietly to his second. It isn’t his fellow SOLDIER who answers.

“For them it is.” Vincent replies with a small smile. This is clearly an exchange he’s seen often, by the slight display of fondness. Beside him, Sephiroth turns to see that expression and something tightens in him, like he’s choking on nothing but air.

* * *

 

  
Within the hour, Cloud finds himself outside the house again. One of his thicker jackets on, the hood pulled over his infamous hair, he strides out into the bitter cold with a dark look on his face.

He just… needed to get out.

Cloud’s mother was a singular woman. No one would disagree with that. Most days, it was a good thing. There was just something galling about sitting there watching his hero and the man of his dreams getting on better with his mom than he ever had with the man. Within ten minutes they’d been trading bloody war stories as if they’d been together in the field.

It made sense, though. Both of them were blunt, to the point, and blisteringly cold to most people. It just… sucked.

Sure, this whole mission was for Vincent (and for Sephiroth) and was completely charitable and not at all about his hero worship, buuut… how could he really say there wasn’t a speck of longing in him that this whole venture might mean something? That Sephiroth might be grateful to him or acknowledge him somehow. So far, the man had been grating and rude when he was paying attention to Cloud’s existence, which was rare.

Of course, that was reality. Crushing your dreams without remorse. It was just… hard to sit there and watch.

So, with a heavy sigh, Cloud starts walking through the snow, only vaguely bothered by it. It isn’t the coldest Nibelheim could be, and even so, Cloud was used to it. He enjoys the cold, in fact. Midgar was much too warm for him, not only due to the different climate but also the excess heat built from the close quarters, the maddening amount of people, and the constant mechanical grind.

A huff of breath colors the world in front of him white for just a moment. Slowly, Cloud comes to a halt in the town square. There’s the well, where he and Tifa made their promise. He hadn’t spoken to her in a while. Was she working that night? Maybe he should pay her a visit…

Turning, he heads for Jerry’s. It’s a small, locally owned bar, the only good place for booze that hasn’t been brewed in a basement. For the last forty years someone in Jerry Godwin’s family had owned it, until the last owner, Drew, passed away. He bequeathed it to Tifa in his will, which upset the family but shocked no one else.

The woman had started work at the bar in her teens and quickly became the driving force keeping it afloat. She was the one with the knowledge and know-how to run it, and a few years later, it was hers. Cloud couldn’t have been prouder of the one person he could almost call his friend.

Jerry’s is pretty crowded when Cloud steps in. Already he can smell the usual aromas of fried fish, stale beer, and day old man sweat. He removes the hood and steps to the bar, smiling at the brunette behind the counter.

She waves in acknowledgement, not leaving her customers. It takes a minute but before long Tifa Lockhart is leaning on the bar in front of him, a smile on her face.

“The rumor mill has been turning today,” The girl grins.

“It does that.” Cloud grumbles back. “My usual.” He didn’t even have to ask; she lifts a hand, reveal the beer bottle already in her grasp. As she cracks it open he can’t help but crack a smile.

“Yeah, so,” Tifa slides it to him. “Was that really Sephiroth or just a costumed hooker or what?”

Cloud’s first sip is promptly spat back out.

“I’m sorry, did you just –“

“Gross.” Tifa whips out her bar towel. “You don’t even have the excuse of being drunk.”

“Seriously!?” Sputtering, Cloud shakes his head. “You hit me with that –“

“It’s a legit question. It sure looked like him but how the hell would you pull that off?”

Cloud’s ire falls a little. Sighing, he lowers his arms. “No fucking clue, but I did. That is him. And his second in command. The fuck knows how long they’re staying.”

Big brown eyes stare at him. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

“By Bahamut, how the hell,” She throws her hands up, mouth agape. A nervous laugh interrupts her words. “You. You are something else, you know that? You’ve been in Midgar for what, half a week, and come back with the General of Shinra?”

A few patrons on the opposite end of the bar are beginning to notice Tifa’s absence, looking down the opposite end with disdain and irritation. None would approach, for fear of catching the gay cooties, but they all wanted their barkeeper back.

“Hey, Teef, I wants another –“

“You can wait, Tyler,” Tifa snaps back without even looking. “This is so much more important than anything you’ve ever done.” Leaning forward, she rests her elbows on the counter. “So. Whole story.”

* * *

 

  
The first time they met, Tifa gave Cloud a bloody nose.

It was mostly an accident. She’d been practicing her technique in the woods outside of town, so into the kata that she didn’t notice him approaching. And him, well, he’d been so entranced by the sight of another person his age who actually fought, that he got too close. Wham. Right in the face.

Tifa had felt so bad. Hitting her teacher’s son in the face? Way to give a good impression. It didn’t help that she was already so much trouble. Her father had forbidden her lessons and she had to pay in secret using her allowance. At 12 years old, she only made 20 bucks a month for doing the dishes, the laundry, and sweeping. Luckily it was enough.

(It would be many years before she learned that Momma Strife had dropped the prices – and she would’ve done it for free if Tifa hadn’t insisted.)

Still, from that point on, the two were rivals. The only students of the Strife Studio, so to speak. Everything they did together was a challenge. Who can get water from the well faster. Who can wash up for dinner quicker. Who can fall asleep first. Their whole childhood was a race to be better, faster, stronger.

It was also a secret – a relationship no one could know about, because Tifa was the precious only child of an overprotective town mayor. She wasn’t allowed to learn martial arts, she certainly wasn’t allowed to learn it from the town weirdo, and most of all, she couldn’t be best friends with the town weirdo’s gay bastard.

That didn’t stop her.

When she put her mind to something, nothing could stop her. By the time she was fifteen she was a black belt in three disciplines, training not just under Momma Strife but teachers from other towns, Dojos she traveled to on her own dime. Her father was having a harder and harder time stopping her, and he blamed the Strifes.

The whole bridge thing didn’t help. Tifa was outright forbidden from seeing Cloud – not that she listened. They had a bond no one else could understand, something antagonistic and complimentary all at once. Completely different people who fit together perfectly as if one was never without the other.

Sure, they made promises to each other; promises so vague and practically impossible as to only seem accomplishable to children. Or, so ludicrous as to be laughable. By the time they both grew up, they would realize most of them were foolish, the products of childhood, and that they didn’t matter. Especially the ridiculous ones.

“So… how old should we be?”

“Hm,” Cloud, 16, shrugged. “25 maybe? I don’t know when people get married.”

“Okay,” Tifa nodded. “If you and I aren’t with other people by then –“

“Or if your dad tries to make you –“

“Right, then you and me will get married.” She said with a nod. “But secretly we’ll both still be gay.”

“Right.”

“And we won’t have sex.”

“Ew, no!” Cloud grimaced. “Of course not! You don’t even have to say it.”

“But if we have to have kids, we’ll adopt.” The boy grunted in acknowledgement. “The girl will be named Samantha after my mom, and the boy –“

“The boy will be ‘Maximillian’.” Cloud said with a wave of his hands towards the sky. The silence that followed was not encouraged. “… I like that name.”

“You are forever banned from naming our future children.”

* * *

 

  
“Wow.” Tifa, leaning back, whistles. “That’s – you know I wouldn’t have believed it if anybody else told me, but,”

Cloud shrugs. He’s halfway through his beer, eyes dark. “That’s me. Miracle worker.”

“Something like that.” Tifa puts her hands on her hips. “You gotta bring him to the bar sometime, I wanna arm wrestle him.”

A sputtering laugh escapes Cloud, and he hangs his head. “Only you. Seriously?” The beaming grin on her face gives him his answer. “Alright, alright. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Barkeep –“

“Yeah yeah hold up.” Sighing, Tifa trots over to the crowd to do her job, giving Cloud a small wave that says ‘hold on’. He simply nods; he’s not going anywhere.

Least, not until the door opens. Cloud hears the voices before he sees their faces and stiffens. All he has to do is glance at Tifa’s face to be sure. She’s stock still, fist clenched, staring at him.

He shakes his head. “I’ll see you later,” Then stands, keeping his head down. No point putting on the hood; they saw him already. Old classmates of theirs, some of the regulars who used to give him shit. He doesn’t bother looking at them. Just brushes past and out the door, into the frozen world outside. It’s late now; long past sunset, the dim streets lit only by flickering lamp light.

If he’s lucky, they’ll decide it’s not worth it, and stay where it’s warm. Cloud keeps walking. A few feet further, he hears the chime go off as the door opens again.

Apparently he’s not lucky. Big surprise.

* * *

  
Nibelheim is nothing impressive at all. A tiny village housing 152 inhabitants, most of whom were the elderly and the older generation whose children had gone elsewhere looking for opportunity. Cloud was one of a few who stayed, according to his mother, and had no plans to move anywhere else.

Sephiroth wonders why.

The man clearly has potential. He could have been a SOLDIER, if he’d wanted. If not, perhaps a Turk, given his penchant for information gathering. He’d certainly done a lot of it – the journal he’d given Sephiroth when they exited the helicopter was proof of that.

“Something I’ve been putting together.” He’d said with a shrug, not meeting his eyes. “Hope it helps.”

It just… doesn’t make sense.

He’s not thinking about his parenthood; no… he’s come to almost certain conclusions about that. There’s still things he wants to know, questions he wants answered… but he’s relatively sure he knows the story by now. It’s such a strange thought, that he was born in this tiny village he’s never seen. This blip on the map of the world.

That his parents were murdered here.

The mystery that bothers him now is Cloud. Cloud Strife is the one who makes no sense. He’s an anomaly, a puzzle Sephiroth can’t quite solve.

The man’s room is remarkably clean. It’s on the top floor of the house, technically the attic, and spills across the whole floor. It’s an open space, lacking actual walls or flooring beside the wood panels placed over the insulation. There’s a bed beneath the window, a desk in the opposite corner, and bookshelves upon bookshelves slammed full of – stuff. Metal and gears and books and notebooks and pencils crammed into the middle of textbooks like awkward bookmarks. There’s drawings tacked to the entire ceiling, rough models sitting on crates, and so many swords.

“Remarkable, isn’t he?”

In the center of the room is the staircase, leading to the bottom floor. On it stands Ms. Strife, one hand on her cane, the other on the railing. Sephiroth nods to her.

“He certainly seems inventive.”

“Taught himself,” The woman says. “They don’t teach this shit in grade school,” She continues, pointing her cane at the sword laying on one of the tables, half scrapped together, welding tools all around. “There’s even more in the garage. Damn kid’s building himself an arsenal.”

“Why?”

She shrugs. “He likes puzzles. He likes building things.” Stepping upward, she puts both hands on top of the cane. “And I think… it makes him feel good, making something useful. Like its proof he’s good for something.” Sighing the woman turns to the general. “Folks in small towns aren’t kind to people who are different.”

Ah. “Social stigma.” Sephiroth nods. He’s… familiar with the scenario.

“He’s frickin’ smart, and he’s small, but he can still kick anybody’s ass to Mt. Nibel and back,” Ms. Strife says, hand on her hip. “Plus he’s got a mouth to him and doesn’t take shit from nobody, and it don’t help that his mother’s never married. And,” She adds, with a shrug, like it’s an afterthought, “He’s bout as straight as a glazed donut.”

“I… see.” Stiffer than a board, Sephiroth stays very still. He’s not sure what the woman is trying to do and has no idea how to respond.

“What I’m saying,” The woman begins again, stepping closer, looking up at Sephiroth’s gaze from beneath his long bangs. “is Cloud Strife has got it in him to be a great man. A good soldier, hmm? He’s too good for this town.” With that, she turns slowly making her way back to the stairs and down. “He just needs somebody to help make him see it.”

At last she vanishes, the light in the hall shuts off, and Sephiroth hears the door downstairs shut behind her.

The tension eases from him and he relaxes. Now, he understands. And to be honest, he agrees. Seeing what he’s seen of the man here and in Midgar, he understands what his mother is trying to say. (And now realizes why the woman had told Sephiroth he could have her son’s bedroom for the night).

Cloud is the biggest mystery in Nibelheim – and one Sephiroth is determined to solve. With that thought in mind, he leaves the attic bedroom, and heads for the streets of Nibelheim.

* * *

 

  
“Hey, asshole! I know you can hear me!”

Cloud keeps walking.

“You scared, chocobo-shit?”

Pft. Cloud almost laughs. But he’d rather not piss them off. He just wants to get home without creating an incident but it doesn’t look like it’s going to work. There’s still half a mile between him and the house and all this snow is shit for running.

Damn it.

Sighing, Cloud halts, turning around. “Whaddya want Aaron?”

There’s five of them. The leader is Aaron, a pasty tall farmer’s kid with too much time on his hands in the winter season. “Still hidin’ behind your demon pet, huh, Strife?”

Cloud smirks at that. The memories are so delicious. “Vincent’s not here today, lucky for you.” The last time, the man had about torn them to shreds. Aaron’s buddies seemed to remember it too.

Maybe he should’ve lied, should’ve said the man was nearby somewhere, but… it’s not in him to hide behind other people, even as a ruse. And he can see the bullies relaxing somewhat. He snorts.

“Shut up!” One of them lifts a metal bat, smacks it into the palm of his hand – for the first time a shiver of real fear hits him. This will not be fun. “We heard you were back in town. Go to Midgar lookin’ for some dick, bring back a silver haired whore?”

Fury unfurls inside his chest, overflowing like boiling water. “Say what you want about me, but you shut up about the General!”

“Oh!!” A chorus of laughter and jeers answers him. Aaron’s grinning. “Like you really brought the General Sephiroth back with you. You little piece of shit, you aren’t good enough to be the dirt on his boots, you think the General would hang around with a little gay turd like you?”

His face is flushed, hands clenching, this is getting out of hand. Cloud tries turning his head. “Shut up.”

“What, you think he’d want you? Is that it? You want the Silver General stick his big ole’ sword up your gay ass?”

“I said shut up!”

He moves – the first punch takes Aaron completely by surprise, and he’s flung back twenty feet, slamming hard into the snow. The sight of it is enough to shock Cloud out of his anger. It always is. If not for the weather, the other man might be dead now.

Horrified, Cloud lowers his hands. And he doesn’t defend himself when the bat swings at him the first time.

It hurts. By hell it hurts, and he goes down to the feeling of more weapons hitting him, steel-toed boots and bats and a beer bottle. He covers his head, the world spinning as he curls up, tasting blood in his mouth. Another smack hits him in the ear before it suddenly stops altogether.  
  
The world is ringing. Bells all around. His vision blurs and shakes as he’s moved, someone holding him upright, looking into his eyes. Vincent to the rescue again, apparently. Cloud chuckles around the blood in his mouth.

“Hold still… just a moment…”

It clears; the pain, the blood, the ringing in his ears. Cloud blinks and sees not red eyes, but bright green staring at him. The man about jumps.

“G – General!” He rushes to stand but falls, still woozy, against the man holding him. Blood rushes to his head. Cloud steps back, trying to stand by himself, but the gloved hands on his shoulders stay where they are.

“Are you alright?” The man asks, brow furrowed.

Cloud stares; his eyes dart around. The others are gone, no sign but the chaotic mess of footprints to show they’d run for the hills. Sephiroth is the only one there and why is Sephiroth there.

“You instigated the fight.” The man begins. Cloud stiffens like a SOLDIER being dressed down, horrified and embarrassed. “Yet… you didn’t fight back.”

He droops a little. “I didn’t mean to start it,” Cloud admits. “I try to avoid fights.”

“Because of that?”

Sephiroth gestures to the twenty foot line of snow that was dragged when Aaron went flying. Cringing, the blond nods.

“… yeah.”

“You are very strong.” Sephiroth remarks. “I noticed that your mother keeps an astounding amount of cookware and cutlery in her house, despite her insistence on having a single phone to save money. They are for you, are they not?”

Humiliated, Cloud’s head sinks between his shoulders. “… I break them a lot.”

“Hm,”

The General doesn’t seem offended. Doesn’t seem mad or – well, anything at all. Cloud can’t read him. He’s a blank slate, a cold wall of distance, much like Vincent was in the beginning. Cloud’s had years to practice reading the brunette – he has no idea how to understand his son.

Not that he’s gonna get the time to try.

“Why don’t you fight back?”

Cloud blinks. “Huh?”

“Those men were goading you, and clearly you have had negative experiences with them in the past.” Sephiroth says. “You could have easily defeated them. Hurt them. But you didn’t.”

“That’s why,” He says in answer. Sephiroth cocks an eyebrow. “Because I could hurt them.”

The eyebrow lowers. Strong, curious eyes stay narrowed on him. “Hm.”

What does that mean? Cloud thinks, half-terrified, half-confused. He keeps staring at me!

After a prolonged moment of silence, Sephiroth shifts his feet. “Hit me.”

“What!?”

“I want you to hit me.” The man says again. This time, Cloud could swear there’s a small smile on his face. “I am curious about this strength of yours – I would like to test it.”

“I – I’m sorry,” Shaking his head, Cloud holds up his hands. “I can’t. That’s – ludicrous. I don’t want to hurt you!”

“Are you insinuating that a small-town country boy such as yourself could hurt me?” The man’s voice goes smooth, almost taunting, a small smirk on his face. He settles into his defensive stance. “Now, I order you to hit me, you _gay bastard._ ”

Cloud sees red.

When his vision clears, there’s a Sephiroth-shaped hole in Jaxton Holly’s barn.

* * *

 

  
Since being freed from the trap in Shinra Mansion, Vincent Valentine has taken to trailing Cloud around town.

Strife is an apt name for him. The boy has always attracted trouble like a magnet, practically a human natural disaster. It would be comical if not for how desperately the boy attempted to keep such things from happening and how bad he felt about it all. It wasn’t really his fault – he was a strong, talented kid in a small closed minded town whose motto was “Get the hell out.”

It really was. Somebody carved it into the town sign and nobody bothered fixing it.

Vincent had little to do in the world, anymore. No family, no friends, just – Cloud. The boy to whom he owed so much. He’d never have awoken from the Mansion, never left it, never really… tried to live again, if not for the boy. And there were times… times when it seemed even Cloud could not do anything for him.

He’d go catatonic, sometimes. Curl up in a ball in the mansion and just sit, staring at the wall. Trapped in his own mind. Wouldn’t move, wouldn’t do so much as blink. Sometimes, he’d twitch. Or scream. The first time it happened, Vincent came to with a teary eyed blonde leaning over him. Every time since, he can remember…

Cloud was always there. There wasn’t much he could do for the panic attacks or the PTSD or the episodes Vincent fell into. But he was – there. Every day after school during times like those Cloud would be there. For hours. The boy would just talk about his day, sitting by the far wall out of reach. He’d already learned by then that during these times Vincent didn’t always recognize him, that sometimes when he was trapped in these memories he couldn’t control his strength.

But Cloud was still there, trying to talk him through it. Every day, until he came back.

Most people would have run the day they found the red-eyed man in the basement. Smart people would’ve burned the damn mansion down. But Cloud kept coming back. He came back when Vincent yelled and cursed and melted down, destroying the mansion around him in anger and agony. He came back when Vincent wouldn’t talk or move or even look at him. He came back the first time Vincent turned into a demon and surprised the hell out of both of them. First Galian, then Hellmasker, Death Gigas, Chaos… Cloud wasn’t scared away by any of it.

The least Vincent could do in return was protect him.

He’d always known the boy had been bullied. It was clear from the moment they met; Vincent wasn’t a Turk for nothing. He could read the body language, the signs the boy displayed that revealed his lonely childhood. But until he was free, he could never do anything about it.

It had been a mere day after being set free that Vincent had heard the noises. Shouting, yelling, the crack of wood breaking. It wasn’t incredibly close but his hearing could catch it. Through it, he caught a familiar voice, shouting insults – Cloud.

Vincent hadn’t even hesitated. He’d bolted.

The first time Vincent Valentine stepped outside the mansion in almost thirty years, he didn’t even think about it. He just left – because Cloud needed him. Because the boy was curled up on the ground trying to laugh through bloody teeth, arms around his head as a group of local boys took out their ignorance and anger on him. His hand had twitched for his gun, but Vincent had held himself. Just barely.

**_“Get off of him!”_ **

Apparently, though, he hadn’t held Chaos back as much.

Of all the demons, Chaos was… emotional. Galian’s strength came and went in a cycle, almost in time with the moon. The other two were dull, dimwitted things that were interested solely in bloodshed. But Chaos – Chaos could feel things. He was awake, aware in a conscious way that they others weren’t. And when Vincent felt things, Chaos felt them too – much, much more strongly.

Suffice to say that by the time the bullies had cleared off, they’d seen more than they ever wanted to see of the winged beast with the bright red eyes.

“Are you alright?”

Cloud had… stared at him. Tears in his eyes, mixing with the blood on his cheeks. The pure shock in that gaze tore through Vincent like a bullet. His wings curled around him instinctively, pulling him closer. In that moment, Vincent had never wanted anything more than to actually murder children.

He didn’t, though.

What he did was pick Cloud up, despite the boy’s great irritation and insistence that he be put down, and carried him home. Tended his wounds, and from then on, kept a close watch on him.

Which was why he was there that night, when Aaron came after Cloud. A mix of the usual group, the same half a dozen rowdy sons of ignorant mountain folk, looking for someone to kick around. Vincent almost growled the moment he saw them; within his mind, he felt Chaos spread his wings and snarl.

As it always does it spiraled into violence. But just as Vincent felt the change about to sweep over him and made to step in – someone else did.

Shocked eyes blink. The demon gives a questioning rumble, but settles down. And Vincent simply watches as Sephiroth heals Cloud, helps him stand, and speaks to him. He watches the man question him about his strength and his life. Can’t help a smile when Cloud sends him flying, only for the blond to squeak and chase after.

“By the gods, I am so sorry -!”

Sephiroth’s already standing back up, and he’s practically grinning himself. Cloud’s display pleased him; Vincent watches the blond run up to him, clear horror on his face, torn between trying to brush the dirt off the man and not wanting to touch him any further.

“No need. I wished you to.”

Cloud still frowns, red faced, pouting. “You shouldn’t have insulted me.”

“It was not an insult.” The taller man has a fantastic poker face. He might’ve made a decent Turk. “You are in fact the homosexual son of an unmarried woman, aren’t you?”

“… you suck.”

They bicker for a few more minutes, until barking dogs and lights flicking on alert them to the presence of others. Sephiroth glances round, and by his posture seems ready to step forward and take responsibility; Cloud grabs his shoulder and pushes him back, a finger to his mouth.

“Shush!”

“I caused the damage.” Sephiroth tries to insist. “Shinra can cover the –“

“This is the Holly farm. Aaron’s uncle, this is where he works. Those assholes can suck it.” Then, with a little grin, Cloud quietly creeps to the opposite side, waving for Sephiroth to follow. The silver haired man seems to hesitate for just one moment, before crouching to follow. Together, the two could almost be mistaken for typical teenage boys trying to get out of trouble. Somehow, the sight sooths Vincent.

It’s a good sign. Cloud has always been so lonely in this tiny town, and Vincent has a hard time imagining that Shinra was full of friends for the young General. Both so ahead of their peers in so many ways, ostracized for their differences, isolated due to their exceptionalities. Vincent watches them go, and for the first time in so many years, feels a little lighter.

“Perhaps there’s hope for them yet,” He murmurs to himself. Yes; perhaps there is hope for all of them yet.


	6. Reactor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't exactly where I wanted to stop this, but I've been trying to keep my chapters from turning into huge epics so I cut it off here. I'm so excited though! We're finally getting through the "beginning" stuff and to the meat of the story. I'm really looking forward to introducing some more characters soon... in this chapter, and the future ones. C: Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Also, if you're a fan who likes buying FF shit, you should check out my ebay store. I am a poor college student and I get by running an online business that focuses on video game collectibles - including a LOT of FF. Check it out!
> 
> www.ebay.com/usr/thegamingmuse

Voices; voices, in and out, in the dark. Murky and distant like waves on the horizon.

“Fast asleep already. … been gone a while.”

“… his time in Midgar… not as peaceful as…”

“Don’t fret…”

The words pull on him, each passing wave tugging at his feet, pulling him into the tide. Sleep heavy eyes blink.

“… Zack?”

“Left about when you did. Said he…”

Instead of sitting up, he turns, not quite abandoning sleep. It hugs him tight as he rolls onto his side on the couch, barely awake, hardly aware.

A chuckle. “He sleeps hard.”

“Always has.” His mother… and… who? It’s fading in and out like a dream, and by waking he may not even remember.

“How long has he been…”

“… since he went in that damn house. Not that I begrudge it, but…”

Blackness; fading out, then back in. When next he slips out of sleeping, Cloud blinks bleary eyes, and sees a figure standing at the back door. Too tall for his mother, and too imposing and serious besides. Shoulders thrown back, long silver hair gleaming in the moonlight.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Cloud mutters, sitting up. It’s only been a few hours; he needs a bit more, but it can wait. The clock in the kitchen reads 4 am. “Why’re you awake?”

“Zackary’s gone.” Sephiroth tells him without turning. Not quite awake enough to think clearly, Cloud just blinks. “He left without leaving an explanation.”

“… I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Yes,” Sephiroth sighs, hands tightening behind his back. “Fine.”

There’s something he’s missing here, but – ugh. Rubbing his head, Cloud falls back down. It’s been a long week and he’s tired and at this point not even the fact that General Sephiroth is brooding in his living room can keep him awake.

“What of your friend?” Sephiroth asks. Blinking blearily, Cloud turns his head. “Mr. Valentine?”

“Vincent?” Cloud shrugs. “He’s fine. He vanishes without a word all the time. It’s kinda his thing.” Then the wording catches up to him. Maybe he’s not as sleepy as he thought. This isn’t a General angered by insubordination, this is a worried friend. “I’m sure Zack’ll be back soon. He’s probably just on a bender at the bar, or something.”

“Hm.” Sephiroth turns his gaze back out the door. He doesn’t move otherwise. Cloud manages to stare at his unmoving back for another minute before he sighs and sits up.

“At least come sit down.” Cloud mumbles, rubbing at his eyes. “You won’t help anybody getting yourself a cramp.”

The General barely turns. “You need not get up, I am content to wait.”

“Content and happy are two different things.” Cloud pats the space beside him. “Sit. We’ll wait up for him like parents waitin’ for their no-good kid.”

That gets a chuckle out of the man; finally, the iron bars of his limbs bend and move. He comes to sit stiffly beside the blond, still as straight and poised as ever, but he’s sitting. Green eyes settle on Cloud, and the shorter man suddenly realizes he has no idea what to do now.

“So…” He mutters, scratching his head. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

A sigh escapes the General. Sephiroth leans forward placing his elbows on his knees. “I am – not entirely sure.”

Surprised, Cloud leans forward with him, keeping his gaze on the man’s face. “Thought this was all your idea?”

“Yes.” The man drags a hand down his face. “Now that I am here however…” The hand falls back to his knee, clenching tight. “I am…” The word catches on his lips like he’s afraid to let it go. “Uncertain.”

Cloud blinks. “About what?”

That seems to change something in Sephiroth’s gaze; the man smirks. Sharp eyes turn on the blond. “You are quite disarming you realize?” He chuckles. “Only Zack has ever had such success in getting me to ‘open up’, as he says.”

A blush spreads across the blond’s face. What to say to that? “Uh – I didn’t mean – I’m not trying to pry.”

Sephiroth shakes his head. “No; I suppose I am saying you are easy for me to talk to. Not many are.” His gaze turns again. “I came here looking for answers – but I am not sure I want them.”

Cloud hesitates for just a second. Just one second – then, he reaches out, trying to comfort the man. But – how to do it? _Hand or shoulder? Hand or shoulder?_ At the last minute, he goes for the forearm. Less personal, but with no bulky shoulder pads in the way. _Success! You’ve comforted the General!_

“I’m sorry about all this.” The man says sincerely. “If there’s anything I can do to help…”

Sephiroth’s eyes settle on the hand, then lift to Cloud’s eyes. “You have already been a great help. But perhaps I will enlist your aid once more.”

* * *

  
For the third time in two hours, Zack completes his perusal of the outskirts of town. Never can be too safe; and he has plenty of time to kill, after all. His eyes dart to the sky every so often. Each time, he sees no sign of them. Anxiety heightens the deeper into the night they get, until the man is tense, fidgety, and on edge. Then, finally, he sees it.

A light in the distance. Once, twice, it flashes, then nothing – then a third flash.

Zack grins, and lifts his signal beam in reply.

The small plane heads his way, and he signals them down, to the clearing nearby. As the plane comes in, engines roaring overheard, a beaming grin comes to the SOLDIER and he breaks into a run.

It lands, and the door opens. Zack slides to a halt just in time to see the man stepping down from the entrance.

“So happy to see me?” Tseng quips.

“Course I am.” The man puts his hands on his hips. “Always a pleasure. Really. Please get out of my way.”

The Turk manages to suppress a smile and step out of the way. Zack bolts for the door, barreling into Reno, who’d been in the process of stepping down.

“Hey – Whoa! Slow your roll man! We gotta clear the area first –“

“Been cleared, checked it myself.” He insists, pulling himself up and into the plane. Zack stands and makes to run again, only to slow to a halt at the sight that greets him. The woman he’s been waiting for is right there, grinning at him, and completely safe.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Aerith says with a smile. That’s as long as she can resist running to meet him, wrapping their arms around each other. For the next few minutes, the whole world shrinks to the two of them, and their embrace.

Then Reno coughs.

“Seriously, if you’re gonna make out right there, the polite thing to do is at least invite us for a little groping. Some over the clothes action.” Zack quirks an eyebrow at the redhead as he turns, gaze on the Turks, arms all over his girlfriend.

“Not on your life, Reno.”

“Wow, rude.” The man scoffs, hands on his hips. “Fine, see how you like it. Tseng –“

“Touch me and I’ll shove that rod of yours so far up your ass you’ll never see it again.”

“Promise?” The threat does nothing to intimidate Reno, of course. But it does have Aerith in stitches. She’s still tense; Zack can feel it in her frame. She’s been a nervous wreck this whole week most likely. It’s good to see her smile, he thinks.

“Come on,” He gestures to the world outside. “We should get moving.”

“Are we going to see the General?” Aerith holds his hand tight, following alongside him. Zack winces at the mention and she definitely notices. “What’s wrong?”

“Sephiroth… may not be the best person to involve.” Tseng says diplomatically. “His loyalties so far as Hojo is concerned are – complicated.”

“He loves the man, the poor bastard.” Zack sighs as they step down to solid earth. “I know he doesn’t approve of everything Hojo does, but… well. He cares about him.”

“Not to mention that whole contract thing,” Reno waggles a finger. “Technically don’t he own the General?”

“No,” Aerith gives a gasp. “Not really?”

“General Sephiroth is listed as a scientific endeavor in the Shinra archives. Technically… he is not legally listed as a human being.”

“Fuck those bastards.”

“Precisely.” Tseng continues. “Now, Miss Gainsborough, you really should keep moving. Until this all blows over, you are not safe.”

The woman nods; she gazes at her boyfriend, taking his hand, but hesitates when he begins to move. “It … is going to blow over, isn’t it?” She asks quietly. Nervous eyes met Tseng’s. “Everything will go back to the way it was?”

Tseng barely represses a sigh. “I doubt it, Miss Gainsborough.”

“Hey, it’ll be alright.” Zack insists. “You didn’t like Shinra the way it was before anyway, right?”

“Yeah, but…” Sighing, Aerith turns her head. “I have a bad feeling.”

None of the men reply; they all know how accurate Aerith’s “feelings” always are. Not that this time, they needed the prediction to know that trouble is undoubtedly on its way.

* * *

 

Morning comes, and Zack still hasn’t returned. Cloud tries not to bring it up. Sephiroth hasn’t mentioned it, even though it’s clearly on his mind. He keeps looking at the man’s bag as if it might tell him where Zack went, and every so often he stops and stares at the front door for minutes on end. He’s anxious, clearly, and upset, and doesn’t know what in the world to do about it. Still, by the time they’ve eaten and had coffee with Cloud’s mother, the man seems ready to face the day.

“If you are not needed elsewhere,” The man begins, standing behind the counter, his fourth cup of coffee in hand. Cloud’s mother has already vacated the area, heading into town herself. “I could use a guide today.”

“Hm, sure.” Cloud nods. The chance to spend time with his childhood hero-crush? Sign him up. Besides, what would he say? ‘No, I’m too busy doing fuck all in this crappy town’? “Heading for the mansion?”

The man nods, not meeting his gaze. Cloud lets it drop. The General will say more when he’s ready. Now he even has the blond glancing at the front door, wondering.

_Where are you Zack?_

* * *

 

  
So comes the fateful day; Cloud and Sephiroth, alone together, entering into the Shinra Mansion for a day of exploration. For half a second Cloud got the weird idea into his head that this could almost be like a date if not for, oh, the creepy old mansion and the dead things and the monsters and the haunted freaky horror show in the basement.

But other than that, yeah. Totally a date.

Cloud huffs a disgusted sigh. It’s as close as he’ll ever get. He’s behind the General as they enter, with his sword on his back, his materia equipped and a bag of small supplies at his waist. Sephiroth had been surprised by the bracer and said as much.

“I did not realize small towns such as this had materia equipment.”

“They don’t.” Cloud had told him. As he attached the bracer, he held it up for show. “I made it. The materia I found around here and there, nothing great, but it works.”

The look on Sephiroth’s face was practically one of constipation. Cloud cocked an eyebrow, confused by the stunned ambivalence, deciding it was probably safest to just turn and walk away. As he did he could have sworn he heard the man muttering behind his back.

“… ‘made it’, he says, like it’s a damn charm bracelet.”

The mansion is as dark and creepy as ever, save for the little light flooding in from the holes in the walls and ceiling. There’s snow piled around too, from the recent storm. “Careful,” Cloud mentions, pointing it out. “The floor’s probably rotting more from the weather.”

They travel mostly in silence, Sephiroth leading the way. Cloud had told him where everything was; but the man seemed to be in no rush to go anywhere, just… walking through the halls. Every so often he would pause, cock his head as if listening for something, or look away as if there was something in the distance he could see. After a while, Cloud commented on it.

“Hm,” Sephiroth says with a frown. “I suppose – I am trying to imagine it.”

“Imagine what?”

“My parents, in this house.”

The words choke the blond, who follows and watches Sephiroth continue with tears in his eyes. The man is visualizing his family; trying to learn about his parents in reverse, through the house they called home for some time. It’s heartbreaking, but he doesn’t let Sephiroth see it. Cloud wipes at his eyes when the man is turned away.

Eventually they do head for the basement. The rooms are even darker, sound echoing all around. They fight a bit to get there, but nothing Sephiroth can’t handle; Cloud feels like a child around him, barely getting his sword off his back to fight, only for the other to have already finished it. It’s humbling, and amazing to watch.

Sephiroth halts in the hallway. “This is where you found Mr. Valentine?”

Cloud follows his gaze; it’s the coffin room. “Yeah,” Cloud steps through the doorway, glancing up. “Fell through right there.” Sephiroth follows after, following his gaze to the hole in the ceiling.

“You were quite lucky to have lived.”

“Yeah,” Cloud chuckles nervously. It was a doozy of a drop.

They move on, further down the hall. With each step, Cloud feels nerves trembling up his spine. Trepidation chokes him. Was this a good idea? Somehow, before, it had seemed like a great idea. But now, Cloud’s on edge, antsy, and something feels – off.

The mansion had been a second home to him for years. But without Vincent, it feels cold and empty, almost hostile. With Sephiroth, it’s practically chilling. The man has been stiff and stone-cold since they entered, even worse than usual. And there’s a … glint in his eye, making Cloud nervous.

_What’s going on?_

“Se- General, are you alright?” Fidgety, Cloud tries to glance round to the man’s face. He’s shivering a little, his eyes wide and distant, not looking at anything. The man stays stock still, before shaking his head.

“My apologies,” He sighs, a hand rubbing his forehead. Cloud frowns.

They keep walking; Sephiroth examines the labs with a quick gaze, barely looking at anything. Glass cracks beneath their feet. Cloud looks at it all with a new gaze; imagining Sephiroth’s perception of this place, his birthplace, his beginning. It’s a terrifying thought.

“Sephiroth… are you alright?”

The man doesn’t respond.

“Sephiroth? … Sephiroth!”

No answer; the silver General brushes by Cloud like he isn’t there, rushing for the exit. Cloud watches him go, stunned, slow to react. “Wait a minute! Slow down!” He chases after finally, but he’s lost the man. Damn, he’s fast. “Sephiroth!”

He keeps going rushing through the house, out the door, but he’s gone. Sephiroth is gone, and on top of that he’s acting like a total loony. Cloud stops on the front porch, breathing hard. The thoughts whirl through his mind and he tries sorting them, trying to look at the details and see what went wrong, what’s happened.

“Cloud!”

The man’s head shoots up. “Mom?”

The woman’s hobbling over to him in a rush. “What the hell’d you do to piss off the General? Man blew past me without so much as a word.”

“Mom, where’d he go?” Cloud slides to a halt beside her, hands on her shoulders. She nods down the road.

“Towards the mountain.”

Mountain…? Cloud’s mind races. What in the world could be –

Vincent. He went up to the reactor on the mountain and did something, that night that they researched Sephiroth’s past. Was there something missing here? Something Hojo did that Cloud didn’t know about?

“Go home, ma,” Cloud says, gritting his teeth. Then he takes off running.

* * *

  
Before long, Tseng and Reno, with their driver, Rude, had to leave. It was a quick drop operation after all, and according to the Turk, they had one more piece of “important cargo” to drop somewhere.

“Aerith’s not the only one in danger now,” Tseng had muttered mysteriously to Zack, before heading back in the chopper.

So the two were left to their own devices, to finish the plan themselves. Zack’s chest tightens at the thought. Sure he’s been the leader on many high end ops but… his gaze drifts to his girlfriend, light of his life.

The stakes have never been so high.

“Come on,” He says gently, holding her hand. “This way.”

“Where to?”

“North, to Rocket Town.” He says. “It’s the nearest settlement with absolutely no Shinra influence.”

“What about your friends?”

Guilt settles in his gut, heavy. “They’ll be alright.” Aerith needs him. He can’t leave her on her own, and he can’t take her back to Nibelheim, the risks are too high. He trusts Sephiroth… damn it, he loves the man, but…

Zack knows how far people can be driven to for family. He can’t take any risks.

Suddenly, his hand’s tugged hard, and the man turns, wide eyed. Aerith’s boots are planted in the earth. Uh oh. There’s a determined glint in her eyes that is not a good sign.

“Zack…” The girl sighs. “You’re being silly again.”

He blinks. “What?”

“You can’t just leave Sephiroth. I’ll be fine!” She leans forward, insistent. “Stop worrying so much.”

How can he not? One of the world’s most powerful scientists – soon perhaps to be the world’s most powerful man – wants to sink his greedy claws into the woman he loves. And Zack, he’s just a SOLDIER, a rung in the ladder, what can he do? If Hojo gets her… if he…

“I can’t risk it.” His grip tightens just short of too much. “I can’t – lose you.”

“Zack…” Soft eyes meet his as she leans into his line of sight. Then those eyes widen. “Zack!”

The man gasps; damn, he’d been distracted, he hadn’t even heard the monster coming up on them, he spins and places himself between the beast and Aerith just in time to see it fall.

THUD. The bullet comes from a long ways off, blood arching through the air as the beast falls. For a moment Zack wonders if Tseng had hung around after all, the shot is so perfect. Eyes narrowed, he turns to look for the shooter, and barely catches sight of a flash of red.

They were followed.

“Huh.” Shoulders slumped, Zack turns back to Aerith. “I’m so sorry, I –“

“You’ve had a lot going on.” The woman taps his shoulder. “All the more reason to go to Sephiroth. You can’t do everything on your own.”

“I’m not on my own.” A small smile comes to his face as he takes both her hands in his. “I’ve got you.”

She smirks but seems pleased. “You know what I mean.”

He smiles in return – but it’s a little weak. Zack’s… not sure. He doesn’t know what to do and the worst part is? Usually, the person he’d go to for advice about this… about anything really… was Sephiroth. And Seph’s the guy I’m avoiding.

Is he being stupid about this? Sighing, Zack scratches his head. He just… doesn’t know. This is all so complicated and dangerous and the smallest misstep could mean the end.

“Alright,” He says finally, turning to Aerith. “We’ll talk to Sephiroth. Okay?”

She grins bright as the sun. “Okay.”

 

* * *

 

So much buzzing. Loud, screeching. He hates it. Words and thoughts vanish and there is only the sound. White noise, white noise, whitenoise. Make it stop. Make it be quiet. He will, he will –

The noise gets so loud. So much of it. Louder and louder closer he gets, louder and louder and lou –

“Sephiroth!”

Stop. Stop shouting, stop saying. Stop the noise. Teeth gritted, blood in his mouth. Stop the noise. She’s crying and she shouldn’t be alive and who is she _listen son listen_ he can’t listen because of the noise and she’s not strong enough to really speak someone hurt her why is this hurting

Hands on him, he screams, stop touching stop the noise stop everything it hurts it hurts

_Father it hurts please stop I don’t want to be in the lab today can’t I go outside I don’t want more tests no father no please don’t_

No. No more pain. No more noise. No more.

* * *

 

  
The reactor is a mess. Whoever came in before Cloud didn’t know how to use a door, because every single one is torn off the hinges or simply blown through. Thank fuck nobody actually works at the reactor, save one guy in town who drops by once a month to make sure it’s still doing its thing.

That guy isn’t around, which is a good thing since Cloud’s pretty sure he’d be dead. The reactor looks like a monster tore through it, walls destroyed and fire licking at the walls. Whatever Sephiroth is after… he’s impatient for it.

Finally, Cloud catches a glimpse of silver in the distance. “Sephiroth!” He bolts after him. The man’s just walking forward, at a brisk pace, with no sign he can see the world around him. “Sephiroth!”

This is… a weird looking reactor. Cloud’s seen pictures before, read books about them. He’s never seen anything like this. There’s a long walkway over a huge drop that really does not seem safe. At the sight, Cloud hesitates, flailing to keep from tumbling over. Wide eyes gape at the glowing mako what seems like miles below, but is probably all too near.

It’s a circular room, and in the center is a raised dais. There’s some kind of device, some computer that’s all torn up in the middle. An empty tube of – something, Cloud doesn’t want to know what – is there, too. It’s all destroyed. Is this what Vincent did?

“Sephiroth?” He reaches for the man. A blur of silver shocks him out of lethargy, silver that isn’t hair but a sword that almost took off his hand. Cloud leaps out of the way just in time, stunned eyes staring wide at the General. “What the hell?”

He’s… blank. Distant. Something in his eyes is wrong. But there’s anger there, and it’s all directed at Cloud right now. Whatever this has to do with the reactor and what was in it doesn’t matter now, because Sephiroth is mad, and definitely not acting like normal.

“Sephiroth, please,” Holding up a hand, Cloud takes a tentative step back. “You aren’t like yourself. What are you thinking?”

He says nothing; one heavy step forward, then another. Like a puppet, thumping along on invisible strings. He’s hunched over, hair falling over his eyes, mouth agape.

“ …”

Cloud blinks, pose relaxing. “… What?”

“M – Make…” The man is trying to speak. Wild eyes open beneath his bangs. “Make her stop – make her stop screaming.”

Masamune lifts over his head. The man grits his teeth before releasing a scream of his own.

Cloud barely has the time to think, ‘aw hell.’

The sword cleaves a good twelve feet of metal in two, everything that was in front of Sephiroth; the platform, the overhang above the door, even part of the next room. Cloud was almost a part of that if not for quick, instinctive thinking. He runs. The man races out of the room, out of the reactor, as fast as he can.

‘No use fighting in here,’ He thinks with a grimace. ‘Way too enclosed. Get outside get outside!’ Behind him he hears the roar and shriek of metal being torn and the building collapsing with each swing of the great sword; and each sound has his heart jumping in his chest. Cloud comes out into the snowy wilderness in time for the very entrance to cave in.

The man slides to a halt in the nearest snowdrift, turning to face the building. He has no fanciful dreams that this is over. It will take a lot more to kill General Sephiroth. For a moment it occurs to him that General Sephiroth is fighting him and vertigo strikes him, the unreality of the situation sending him reeling.

_This can’t be happening._

The building blows; smoke and fire billow into the sky and from that towering inferno appears a man. A man sheathed in flame, his sword glittering with it. He walks out of the fire with a madman’s grin, his eyes bright and fiery, but not lucid.

Something is very wrong.

“Sephiroth, what the hell are you doing?” Cloud puts a hand on his sword. How the hell is this his life? He’s about to fight his hero for Gods know what reasons, the strongest man in the world having just lost his mind out of fucking nowhere.

And he’s the only one here to do anything about it.

‘Zack, where the hell are you?’ Cloud asks himself. Another SOLDIER could do this. Sephiroth’s lieutenant could hold him in a fight. But Cloud? Against Sephiroth? The blonde resists the urge to groan.

_I’m gonna be shishkebab._

All at once Sephiroth is gone. Just gone. Cloud chokes on his next breath until he feels it – like the Angel of Death is just hovering over his shoulder. The killing intent breathing down his neck has him moving on instinct, rolling forward just in time to avoid a downward aerial strike that surely would have killed him. He turns with the motion, moving to face Sephiroth, drawing his sword.

_‘Surely at this range,_ ’ Cloud thinks, ‘ _He won’t be able to counterattack. The blade is too long. As long as I’m close enough I can – ‘_

Sephiroth withdraws the blade from the earth and snow with blinding speed. He jumps with it, already moving again so soon, barely within a blink of having landed. The timing is too fast. Cloud gasps, even as he sees the motion. Sephiroth’s coming for him again, blade extended downward, and Cloud barely has the time to turn his shoulder to keep it from piercing his heart.

“AHHH!”

It fucking hurts. He’s been hit and skewered and stabbed before but this is stainless steel meant to pierce human bone and flesh. It cuts right into his abdomen, through the other side into the earth. Cloud can already feel blood seeping from the wound, gritting his teeth as he looks up to his hero.

His damn hero.

The man’s eyes are so cold. This isn’t the awkward man who’d unknowingly insulted him. This isn’t the confused young man looking for answers. This is a stone cold killer.

_He’s actually trying to kill me._

Sephiroth removes the blade and Cloud can’t help another scream. The man smiles. Smiles. And Cloud realizes with dull horror that he is actually going to die here.

_I’m going to die!_

* * *

 

  
Whenever Cloud got into fights, he tried to avoid going to his mother for help. When it came to injuries, he always went to Vincent.

The older man never questioned, never judged him, never asked if he won or lost or impugned his manhood for it. No; Vincent was always a comfort to him. Cloud would come in, bruised and bleeding, tears in his eyes, and the quiet man would simply kneel, and extend a hand. Always making him feel safe, and welcome.

“I always lose,” Cloud muttered one such time, sitting on Vincent’s coffin. The man was sitting on the opposite side, bandaging a rather nasty cut on Cloud’s arm. “I’ve trained my whole life to fight but Aaron always kicks my ass.”

“He fights without honor.” Vincent murmured. “You hold back, afraid to truly hurt anyone. He lacks such concern.”

Cloud, only slightly appeased, gave a grumble of acknowledgement. Surely even holding back he could be able to get away sometimes. Or at least hold them off without getting beat up. Why was it they always got the best of him?

It was always a losing fight, with Cloud.

“It sucks being the underdog all the time.” Cloud finally muttered, looking at his newly bandaged arm. He knew he was pouting and being stupid, but the young boy was frustrated and tired and in a great deal of pain.

“Hm,” Vincent had muttered, before coming to sit next to the boy. In a rare show of physical comfort, the man actually put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Cloud remembered it had stood out as the first time Vincent had instigated such an action with him. Vincent didn’t like touching people.

“You’re stronger than they’ll ever be. Underdog though you are.” Cloud huffed, but Vincent shook his head. “They’ll never understand your strength because they’ve always been strong. But you’ve known what it is to be at someone else’s mercy.”

“When an animal is cornered and hurt it lashes out with all its strength. Humans are the same way. You’ll find that when you are at your weakest, when everything is against you and you have nothing left to lose, new strength will rise in you the likes of which you’ve never felt. A rushing fury that every living creature is ultimately driven by – the will to live. To keep fighting to live until there is no fight left.”

“You have that kind of strength Cloud,” Then, Vincent had smiled at him, actually smiled. Cloud felt his chest swell. “When you find it, you will be amazed what you can do. I only hope I am there to see it.”

* * *

  
The blade comes down – and clashes with metal.

It takes two hands and all of Cloud’s strength behind it to keep Sephiroth from completing the finishing blow. It’s a near thing – the man is practically a God on the battlefield. But Cloud holds his own, hands shaking as he presses back, refusing to back down.

_No…_

Lifting his knee, he puts one foot on the ground, trying to gain leverage as he pushes back.

_If I die… who’s to say he’ll snap out of it?_

Then, he swings with his other leg, towards Sephiroth’s. The man sees it coming by a long shot, and jumps free. Cloud seizes his chance to stand back up.

_He could take the whole village out. I can’t…_

Furious eyes meet a cold green gaze. Cloud’s grip on his sword tightens to the point of pain.

_I can’t lose!_

“Wrahhh!”

With a furious battlecry Cloud leaps forward, sword swung to his left. Sephiroth meets his charge, their blades clashing, and immediately moves into another swing. Cloud meets it – and another, and another.

The man is a fury on the battlefield. It’s all Cloud can do to keep up with his speed, meeting blow for blow, barely stay alive. The long blade manages to cut and scrape him up a bit, and he hasn’t touched Sephiroth at all.

Cloud pushes back, trying to force space between them, but Sephiroth is an iron wall. He might as well try to move Mt. Nibel. Grimacing, Cloud instead leaps back from the next attack. Sephiroth follows, sword by his left side, preparing to swing again.

Today, Cloud did not bring his First Tsurugi. The Fusion Sword, made of multiple blades, has been a personal project that he’s worked to perfect for years. Clearly, it isn’t there yet, given the performance with the Behemoth. So today he’d opted to take another blade he’d made himself: The Organics.

It’s a long, curved black and red blade, which unlike his other blade is made to be used with Materia. It’s a magic sword – a damn good one. It had taken Cloud years to learn how to properly incorporate the shit with his blades. This has been his one success, a blade that increases magical power as well as allowing the equipping of six materia into itself.

Cloud uses these to his advantage.

Immediately he activates both the Barrier and Cover materias in the blade. A white wall of light erupts between him and his opponent; not that Sephiroth can really be more than slowed down by such a thing. The Cover materia’s defensive power settles over him too, so that by the time the blade hits him, it hurts a lot less than it would have.

Now, he has an opening; letting Sephiroth in to make a blow has let Cloud in close. He twists the blade, slamming the hilt up into Sephiroth’s jaw, before spinning to hit his head with the broad side. BAM. The sound resounds through the mountainside as Sephiroth goes flying, tearing through the snow and taking a tree down with him.

Cloud stands, breathing heavily. He barely has time to activate another materia before Sephiroth stands: Speed plus. He’s gone before Sephiroth notices, moving behind the man.

He knows soon enough, though, spinning to face Cloud, but not before the man gets in another blow. Sephiroth reels back but Cloud doesn’t let up; he keeps pushing, hitting again and again with the broad side of the heavy blade. He tries aiming for the head; maybe it’ll shake the man out of whatever crazy’s come over him.

Cloud really, really hopes so. This isn’t going to end pretty otherwise.

He goes in again but a gloved hand catches the blade. Cloud’s breath stills in his throat. He can’t let go, and so is forced to fly with the sword when Sephiroth tosses them both aside. He tries standing again quick as he can but Sephiroth is on him, a boot planting onto his open wound.

“A – AHHH SHIT!”

Still, through half closed eyes and gritted teeth, Cloud grabs the offending limb, and shoves him off, following it with another blow with the sword.

It goes on for what feels like forever. Blow trading blow, magic vs magic. Cloud is on his heels and barely able to react to everything being sent his way, constantly reacting as Sephiroth continues to challenge him. It looks as if the man will never break out of whatever spell he’s under, simply wheedling Cloud down to blood and bone, when finally –

“Ah, fuck,” Cloud, gasping for breath, slides to a halt. He’s winded, hunched over, stabbed half a dozen times in so many places, the snow tinged pink with his blood. Sephiroth doesn’t actually look much better. He’s one giant bruise, with some bleeding here and there, some of it Cloud’s. The man is swaying on his feet, blade still in hand but his eyes are drifting, his strength waning.

_‘I’m tiring him out!’_

Amazed, Cloud lifts his blade, determined. “Alright General,” He mutters. “You asked for it.”

The man’s sword lifts to his eye level, in his signature pose. Something in Cloud gives a thrill at that, a rush searing his veins. He’s… fighting his hero. A battle of wills the likes of which he’s never had before.

The world vanishes and it is only Sephiroth and Cloud and this damn cold mountain, two blades rushing to meet one another, and just at the moment the two swords clash, Cloud gives a cry and calls on one more materia.

“Ultima!”

Knowing it was coming, Cloud is able to react, completely releasing the sword and source of the magic explosion. It is – somewhat unstable. Cloud had known that would be true, too, having tried and never been able to master the specific spell. Tossing himself into the snowbank, Cloud winces and waits for the inevitable –

BOOM.

The sword explodes. The blade itself will be fine, despite the black singeing all over it; it falls with a wet thunk into the snow below. For just a moment, Cloud remains as he is, hands over his ears, in the deafening silence.

When the dust clears, when the snow settles and Cloud can see again, Sephiroth is spread limp across the ground, silver hair splayed around his head. Completely unconscious.

Harsh breaths coming in pants, Cloud sits up with a slow wince. Then it all really hits him.

“… holy shit.”

 

 


	7. Snowstorm

The sky is one big blurry grey cloud. With every burst of whistling wind it wavers some, but rarely seems to move, covering every inch of blue. It’s begun to darken, clouds black around the edges now, and Cloud recognizes the signs: a snowstorm on the way.

Now if only he could get his body to get up and do something about it.

It’s been a good ten minutes since Sephiroth finally fell. The silver haired General lays face down in the blood-tinged snow, sword fallen from his limp hand. Cloud fares little better; he’s face up, but filled with more holes, practically swimming in blood. The wounds have begun to clot and close, but he’s still desperately weak, vision swimming.

Nibelheim is a dangerous place in winter. It would be stupid to have been the only living mortal on earth to have ever defeated General Sephiroth, only to freeze to death cause of some snow. With that thought in mind, Cloud finally forces his aching feet beneath him, wincing with every movement.

He sways; it hurts so fucking much, more than anything he’s ever been through. More than any wild beast, more than any hunt or battle before, Sephiroth kicked his ass. And it… felt good. It felt amazing. He’d barely kept up and almost died more than once, but he hadn’t.

A breathless smile comes to Cloud’s face, as he stumbles forward. Organix gets left behind; he can’t carry the comatose General and the behemoth of a blade. “Sorry,” He mumbles quietly, whether to the sword, or the man, is unclear.

Slowly, stiffly, Cloud bends to take hold of Sephiroth’s arm, slipping it and then the man’s body over his shoulder. He hisses as he stands, feeling a new surge of blood seeping from his wounds as the pressure puts strain on them. But he grits his teeth, puts one foot in front of the other, and gets moving.

“You – so owe me,” The man mutters quietly. It takes a lot of energy to speak but somehow the words are giving him the mental strength he needs to keep moving. Lifting his spirits, as it were. “Attack me for no damn reason. Almost kill me. Now we’re gonna –“ He hisses again, moving Sephiroth further up his shoulder. “We’re gonna freeze to death and it’s all on you buddy.”

The man is too tall to properly be carried by the blond; but Cloud does his best. The General’s feet, hands, and hair all drag through the snow and blood. It’s all Cloud can do to put one foot in front of the other. The world fades in and out of sight.

“Y’know…” He chuckles dryly. “It would – really suck, to die now.” Another step, heavier and slower than before. “After beating you. Proving how good I was – just to die and have nobody ever… know about it…”

The world swirls. White and grey greet him as his knees give way. Is that the ground? Or the sky? It all looks the same. He’s not cold anymore. Cloud’s just… very tired.

* * *

 

  
When he was a boy, Prof. Hojo always insisted on calling Sephiroth a God.

He never understood it. Being a curious and intelligent boy he constantly questioned the man on it, but was rarely given concrete answers. Clearly, he was mortal like everyone else. Clearly, he had a body, he could be injured and hurt. But… over time it soon became clear he wasn’t like everyone else.

And if he wasn’t like everyone else… then what was he?

The idea of being a God didn’t sit well with him. It was… odd. Gods demanded reverence and fear, and Sephiroth never wanted either. He got plenty of both. Fans made him feel awkward, fearful enemies were just part of the job. It wasn’t enjoyable, these things. Honestly, Sephiroth rarely enjoyed anything to do with people anyway.

In some ways, it fit. He healed like a damn monster. Nothing could kill him – nothing could stop him. No human on the planet had ever been his match.

“You, my boy,” Prof Hojo would say. “Are the proof of my genius. The essence of a God in physical form. You will believe me, one day, when you search this whole world and find not a single soul akin to yours.”

It wasn’t a pleasant thought. To Hojo it was proof of his supremacy; for Sephiroth, it was the dreadful reality that he would always be alone.

* * *

  
Sephiroth opens his eyes.

He blinks; coughs, feels the tell-tale rattle of still healing lungs. Iron coats his throat and he feels… slick. Some of that is the blood on him, he realizes, while it is also the fact that he’s surrounded by ice and snow. Sitting up, the man looks round, eyes narrowed.

He’s in a field, of some sort. It’s hard to tell given the powerful pressure of the winds, the darkening skies, but he’s still clearly near Nibelheim. He moves to stand and sees something bright yellow sticking out from the snow. Confused, Sephiroth moves gingerly, hand clutching his abdomen, pulling Cloud out of the snow with his other arm, all the time wondering –

He remembers.

It all comes back to him in one single instant, and he absorbs it with barely a blink. They had fought. Something in the reactor had – changed him, taken over for a moment and that horrifying realization – that something alien had entered his mind and played him like a puppet – has his guts churning.

More than that, he remembers the fight. By the Gods… that pulsing pressure in his head had been nefariously demanding. Kill. It had wanted him to kill and would not stop pulling at his mind until he caved. If… if Cloud hadn’t stopped him…

Narrowed eyes went suddenly wide.

Cloud had stopped him.

For a few minutes, Sephiroth simply stares in stunned disbelief at the bleeding man before him. It occurs finally that the man might be dead – he checks and finds a steady, if weak pulse. Military training has his mind already on track for their survival. He lifts Cloud into his arms as he stands, making plans for the night, yet still focused on that one thought, like a beacon in the dark.

He’d been beaten. And this wasn’t a spar or a fun romp with friends or SOLDIERs, this had been war. Sephiroth remembered; he’d been out of his mind and ready to kill this man. He’d really tried. All his power, the greatest magnitude of his abilities, he’d unleashed on Cloud, and he had lost.

Sure, it had been a near thing. But Sephiroth didn’t have near things. He never came close to losing. Never.

_You are a God._

A human being with a homemade sword had taken him down. Sephiroth could hardly believe it.

* * *

  
There are days when one regrets waking up.

_Ow. Ow ow ow._

Most of those days for Cloud were after a successful trip into the Wilds. Especially after his mother had stopped going with him, those trips often ended in a lot of blisters and bruises. Or more than that. And in the end, he’d find himself waking up at home, covered in bandages and in more pain than he comfortably wanted to deal with.

Those times held no candle to this.

“Oh my gods,” Cloud groans, blinking tired eyes. “What fucking Behemoth ran me over?”

“That would be me, I’m afraid.”

Slowly, blinking steadily to clear his gaze, Cloud turns his head. Only a foot away sits the general, sans sword and coat, crossed legged on the frozen ground. There in a cave, sealed off from the winds by a few well-placed boulders, a small fire in the center. Cloud’s not too cold; he has Sephiroth’s jacket spread over him.

“Your injuries are mostly healed.” The man informs him. “The superficial outer damage is gone, but it will take time for the blood loss and internal damage to heal completely. You should rest.”

Cloud blinks again. Half lidded, groggy eyes settle on Sephiroth. “So are we just gonna pretend you didn’t go apeshit?”

The man sighs. One elbow resting on his knee, he leans forward, looking more relaxed than he has in ages. To Cloud’s surprise, he actually seems to be smiling. “No, we won’t.” The smile falters somewhat. “I can’t say I completely understand what happened, but I can assure you I am no danger as I am currently. The… force that took over me… I can’t feel it anymore.”

“Makes sense,” Cloud grunts, sitting up some. “The reactor completely blew during our fight. That was the source of whatever was going on. It’s probably gone, now.”

He hopes.

“The reactor?” Sephiroth blinks, gaze turned and thoughtful. “Ah, yes. I remember… I was very determined to find it.”

“A while ago, Vincent came up here.” Cloud finds himself saying. It hurts a bit, and he takes a while to catch his breath. Every word feels like a weight on his lungs. “Said he had to do something in there. I bet he knows what’s up.”

“Hm.” Sephiroth falls quiet.

Too exhausted, Cloud falls back into the snow, breathing hard, grateful just to be lying down. Sleep could easily come over him now, even on the hard cold ground in this uncomfortable cave next to the guy that just tried to murder him.

“It seems,” The General says suddenly, “You were sent to constantly baffle me.”

Cloud groans. “So am I not allowed to sleep now?” He mumbles, an arm over his face. The fire’s light becomes a glare on the snow and its hurting his overly sensitive eyes. “I feel like I earned it.”

“Yes, of course,” Sephiroth inclines his head. The fact that he actually doesn’t say anything else leaves Cloud feeling a little surprised, and… curious. He turns his head.

“What?”

A smug, amused look answers him. “You,” Sephiroth says. “You realize I’ve never been defeated before?”

Yeah. Of course Cloud knew that – who didn’t? He’d even thought about it earlier, in a murky, half exhausted haze, but it couldn’t really count. “You still haven’t. You weren’t in control, and I’m sure I wouldn’t have won otherwise.” If you could call that winning.

Sephiroth just gently shakes his head, like a patient adult explaining something to a child. It would irk Cloud a little, if he were conscious and aware enough to recognize it. “I may not have been behind my bloodlust, but I was the one fighting. That creature wanted me to kill you – it made me want to kill you. I tried my damnedest to, yet – here you are.”

There shouldn’t be enough blood left in Cloud’s body to reveal his embarrassment. All the same, he’s blushing once again. Clearing his throat, he turns his eyes away.

“You were injured too you know. You should be resting.” Slowly, Cloud sits up, wincing a little as he does. “Come here.” Sephiroth stares for a moment, but Cloud holds his own. “Every Nibelheim child knows you share body heat in a blizzard. I’m not going back to Shinra to tell them I let their General become a Seph-cicle.”

The choice of word has him cocking an eyebrow, but he finally does as he’s told. Cloud tries sitting up further. He wants to be of use here, to help the man who was bleeding on the ground just like he was; instead, it’s Sephiroth who takes gentle hold of Cloud, and pulls the younger man to his chest. He adjusts them until he’s resting with Cloud between his legs, back to front, the jacket spread over both of them.

The world is still foggy around the edges; he’s very tired. But Cloud’s conscious enough to understand that this is really happening. This is General Sephiroth who is currently pressed up against him, the General’s breaths that are brushing by his ear. It’s surreal. All of this has been surreal, practically incomprehensible. Like one big dream.

“Cloud.”

“Hmm?” He’d been half asleep; drifting off thinking of how likely it was his mother would believe he’d beaten Sephiroth. Head leaned back onto Sephiroth’s shoulder, eyes almost fully closed, Cloud relaxes into the man’s embrace.

“Are parents truly so important?”

He rouses a little. Shifts his legs to get more comfortable. “Sure. Family’s important. Whoever your family might be. Some people, its parents.”

“For you?”

“My ma,” Cloud yawns, blinks. “Vincent.”

“I see.” The man hesitates. “There is no one else?”

“Never knew my dad.” Finally settled comfortably, Cloud keeps his eyes closed, even as he speaks. It’s relaxing. “Doesn’t really matter, to me.”

“…”

“He was a mechanic apparently.” He fills the silence. It’s easy to tell Sephiroth is searching for something, for camaraderie, for support, for answers. Anyone to be feeling what he is. Cloud tries to offer it. “Some famous engineer or something. Ma always said that was where I got all my brains.”

“And your sword skill?”

“Entirely my mother.” Cloud chuckles. He adjusts a little, so he’s on his side partially, to take his weight off the wound in his other thigh. “She met him when he hired her to protect his expedition. Some science-y trip, Shinra funded, all that.”

“They were not married.”

“Nope,” Cloud says. “Just a fling. Ma didn’t even keep his number.”

“Aren’t you… curious?”

He sounds so concerned. So unsure himself. It’s a heartwarming thought, that the General can be indecisive. “I guess. I mean it’s not like I don’t want to know. But I’m not hung up on it. I know who I am. I don’t need DNA or history to know that. And I’ve got my family.”

“I see.” Sephiroth hums. “A strong sense of self identity and close communal bonds can replace the need for parental guidance.”

“What about you?” Cloud opens his eyes. When he looks up and the glare finally fades, Sephiroth’s look is dour, almost grim. He knows the answer before it’s said.

“I have Prof. Hojo.” The man grumbles, eyes dark. “I’m not certain how much I would consider him family, anymore.”

Slowly, Cloud sits up, leans away. “No one else?”

Sephiroth shakes his head. “No one.” The man turns aside, his silver hair glistening in the firelight. “Growing up I always wondered what it was that drew other children to their parents. Why they could not stand to be without them for a moment. A young girl brought to Shinra by her parents was left alone for a few minutes and all she could do was cry. I didn’t understand.”

Cloud’s eyes soften. Tense lines draw Sephiroth’s eyes tight, his brow furrowed, lips pursed. “You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

“I’m trying to understand.” Sephiroth admits with a sigh. “All of this is tied into my lineage.”

Tired, Cloud allows himself to fall back onto Sephiroth. Large hands, calloused and firm, help him settle, and the blonde’s heart skips a beat. “I had a friend once that almost died cause of her mom.” He’s not sure what to say; not even sure what he’s currently saying. Everything about Sephiroth is confusing and Cloud’s too exhausted to think clearly. So he just goes with it, follows his instinct, and talks.

“The people around here used to worship the Old Gods. Part of the lore said that Mt. Nibel was a holy mountain, and that if you climbed to the top you’d be with the Gods. On the other side, you’d find hannha – the holy land. The place souls go when they die.”

“When we were little, my friend’s mother died, and she was so distraught she ran out in the middle of the night and tried climbing Mt. Nibel herself. She wanted to get to the other side, to see her mom again.”

“That was reckless.” Cloud can’t see the man’s gaze anymore; can’t tell if he still looks frustrated.

“Love can make you like that.”

“Would you do such a thing?” The man asks. “Climb a mountain? Face Gods for your family?”

He doesn’t even hesitate to answer. “Always.”

* * *

 

Blood, on the air. Familiar blood. His blood.

Vincent breaks his cover and appears at an instant by Zack’s side.

“Something’s wrong.” His nostrils flare, eyes burning bright red. “Move!”

He can smell it – their blood. Sephiroth’s, Cloud’s. The red haze takes over his mind and Vincent ( _Chaos_ ) they are flying.

* * *

  
It always existed in the world. It was the world, was part of the world, part of its nature. But until the woman’s research pulled it together and forced its power into the vessel, it had never been conscious of the fact it existed.

It was forced into the vessel, into a living body, and on that day Chaos actually lived.

It was a dark and bitter place to be born. Full of fear, agony, anger. Hatred for others, and himself – themselves. Vincent hated them, but he hated himself more, and Hojo even moreso. Chaos agreed; on that, at least. Hojo had been the one to cause the pain, the one to make his vessel suffer, the one who had tormented them both in this body.

Chaos had not been conscious for long, but he had already become aware of his violent nature. He is destruction – and he longs for nothing more than to tear that scientist to shreds.

In the darkness, he remained, the years after. Alone, cold, drifting. Vincent shut him off, seeing him as another part of the torture rather than one of its victims. They slept, and Vincent dreamt of horrid things, and Chaos dreamt them too, watched them dream in the dark.

Then the boy came. Fell into their arms. Awoke Vincent, and became the first in so many years to make him live. Vincent living, meant Chaos lived too. Everything Vincent did, saw, felt, he shared with Chaos. Cloud made them live again. Cloud gave them life.

No one would take Cloud from them.

 

* * *

 

The demon tore up the mountainside in almost record time. His keen nose brought them straight to the trail of blood, and before long, to the small cave they’d taken shelter in. With great ease he tosses the boulder in the entrance aside, and swoops in.

‘ _Wait_.’

Chaos falters. It is the vessel – the vessel never speaks to him.

‘ _Look_.’

The red haze over his mind is overwhelming; Chaos cannot exist in the world, he is too much for it. When he overtakes the vessel, he can do little but act on impulse, overwhelmed by instinct. He smells blood, Cloud’s blood, and wants nothing but to find the boy, and kill the one who hurt him.

‘ _Look at them_.’

The voice. It pulls on him like reins. The red haze parts, and something clearer replaces it. He can see; sees the boy, resting, asleep, upon another upon – the other boy. The one the vessel’s woman bore. Another Vincent cares for.

They are sleeping, resting, safe. Chaos – is not needed. He slips away, sinks beneath the skin, and Vincent Valentine finds himself standing in the cave. He simply stands there for a moment; regains his sense of self, his reality. Takes in the sight of the two boys, so precious to him, curled into one another, sleeping. Then the man very gently lifts the larger of them over his shoulders, the small into the crook of his arm, and moves back out into the night.

* * *

  
The first time the demons had come out, Vincent had panicked for three days.

It was a sensation unlike any other. Like having your skin and flesh crack like an egg, and finding something else inside it. Something not yourself. Suddenly you’re giving birth to a beast you didn’t know was inside you, and its birth is killing you.

That’s what it felt like. Being born, and dying, all at once. It was excruciating, and with no understanding of how or why it was happening, Vincent was left to scream and flail in the dark, howling his pain through the night.

The first time it happened with Cloud, he barricaded himself in the coffin room.

It was two hours before he heard he sounds. The creak of floorboards, a young man’s rapid breaths. Cloud came rappelling through the ceiling, the ingenious boy having attached a rope to the stairway on the first floor, and dropping down through the original hole he’d made when they’d first met.

The sight that greeted him was not pleasant. Coffins barricaded the door; the bones and flesh from them all tossed about in the haphazard scramble of the beast to move them. The walls were scratched and beaten, new holes torn in the drywall, some of the coffins torn to shreds.

Cloud’s feet gently touched the ground, and the boy untied the rope around his waist. At 16, he was young, but brave, experienced with monsters and their ilk under his mother’s tutelage. He saw what Vincent looked like, curled up in the corner clutching his arms round his legs, wings curled in on himself.

He stood there, quiet, and didn’t move. Made no noise, no sound. It took almost an hour for Vincent to acknowledge him.

“ _ **Why**_ …” The words were a garbled mess. Fangs and a long forked tongue got in the way.

“I’m not leaving you alone like this.” Cloud insisted. “You shouldn’t have to handle everything by yourself.”

_**“Go… go!”** _

“I would but you made it kinda hard.” The young man shook his thumb at the doorway with a smirk. “And coming down on the rope was hard enough. I’m not looking to get anymore scratches.” He did, in fact, have quite a few on his arms, though the rest of him seemed fine.

The mention caught Vincent’s attention; the tell-tale sound of sniffing, nostrils flaring, came next, and then the man was across the room. Cloud had had enough time to get used to the man’s inhumane speed by then. Still crouched like a creature, rather than a man. He leaned down, sniffing at Cloud’s arms, and the boy stood motionless, allowing it.

“Okay that’s just – wow.” Then, the demon took firm but surprisingly gentle hold of the boy’s arm and started – licking it. Licking the little wounds, that was, and they miraculously healed. It felt weird, like being licked by a cat, all rough and unpleasant. “Aw, man, you’re gonna be so embarrassed when you’re back to normal.” The boy couldn’t help a grin.

Once the wounds were healed, and the demon had done a thorough inspection to make sure Cloud wasn’t hurt elsewhere, the boy finally managed to make him sit. He did, awkwardly, like a gargoyle, his wings and claws in the way. Vincent’s body and the demon’s combined created a weird new creature, and neither inhabitant seemed quite used to using it. They were both awake, and aware; but not fully, and the combined awareness created a strange effect.

Cloud had been told about the demons. He’d been instructed at length about them, informed of what he should do – namely, run away and don’t look back. Vincent had been tough on that. Not that Cloud had ever been that good at listening to what he was told. No, he had his own plans about the demons.

“Hungry?” Cloud took his bag off his back, unzipping. The demon was sniffing the air again, eyes open wide and curious. The creature seemed young, almost inexperienced, despite being supposedly as old as time itself, according to Vincent.

From his bag, he removed a Tupperware container, and presented it to Vincent. “Here, your favorite.” The blonde smiled. “A little bird told me you always seemed more content when Vincent ate some of my mom’s cooking.” The demon sniffed the box, already puncturing the lid when he took it from the boy. His first attempt involved biting the lid, before Cloud hastily showed him that it came off, and the treat was actually inside.

Cinnamon raisin cookies – Chaos’ favorite.

A few of those, and the wings began to shrink, the claws vanish, and Vincent was himself again. Exhausted, and spent, but himself. A week of brooding and trying to force the beast away had done nothing. But one young man with a bright smile and a box of cookies had conquered the beast.  
  
Vincent had never been in more awe.

Cloud had just smiled at the dumbfounded look on his face, holding up the box. “Cookie?”

* * *

  
For the second time in a single day, Sephiroth opens his eyes not knowing where he is. This time, he’s a little groggier, and it takes longer for him to recollect what had happened. He’d awoken and found Cloud, and taken them to a cave… then what?

They must have been found. Clearly he’d been injured enough to have fallen asleep, to his deep shame; only a fool allowed his guard to fall when a companion was injured. (It didn’t matter that Sephiroth was injured; he was infallible. _A God_. He should have been awake.)

Yes, someone must have found them. He was in Cloud’s room, resting in his bed, and beside him… ah. The young man himself, still dead asleep. Sephiroth was pleased to note the man was properly bandaged and seemed to be healing well.

The door opens; Sephiroth turns to see a black head of hair appear in the doorway, and his heart stops. So does Zack’s, apparently, because when he turns his eyes go wide and he almost drops the tray in his hands.

“I – Seph!” Zack hurries to balance it again, before shuffling it off onto a table. “You’re awake!” Then the man rushes over, a ball of fidgety, nervous energy, “How are you feeling? Do you need anything?”

Sephiroth blinks. Slowly, he sits up. “I am fine, lieutenant.”

“Are you sure? I can get you something to eat. Another blanket, maybe? Yeah,” The man nods to himself, apparently deciding without giving Sephiroth a chance to reply. He vanishes down the stairs, and is back just as quick with a quilt he tries pressing around Sephiroth.

“I am fine, Lt. Fair.” Sephiroth tries to insist.

“I am so sorry,” Zack says, sitting at the chair beside him, still fruitlessly trying to place the blanket on him, but being held off by the General’s hand on his. “I should’ve been there, I can’t believe I wasn’t there –“

“You are not to blame.” Sephiroth finds himself saying. There are things he should say. He’s completely in his rights to dress the man down for vanishing without speaking to his superior officer, for being gone without communication for so long. But he’s tired, and hurt, and would rather just not talk to Zack, right now. “You are not required to be present with me at all times.”

“Not required -? Seph, I’m your friend. I should have been there.”

The man blinks. “I was not sure we could be called such.”

The look of pure shock and hurt on Zack’s face strikes Sephiroth hard – and in a strange way, makes him feel better. Because maybe if it hurts Zack too, … “Of course we are, man! I mean,” The young SOLDIER gulps, eyes downturned. “I thought so. After everything we’ve been through.”

“Simply your duty as a SOLDIER.” Sephiroth shrugs. “Being my friend is not a requirement of the job.”

They fall silent. Sephiroth tries not to look at Zack; removes his hand from the man’s, placing them on his lap. Zack is a good person. He could do much better in companionship. Plenty of people like him. Statistically, he could have more friends without the General’s presence due to many factors, including –“

“Seph.”

The man glances up through half lidded eyes. Zack has his serious face on; the strangely out of place look of fortitude and determination which earned him his place in SOLDIER. “This has nothing to do with the job, or SOLDIER, or Shinra. You are my friend. That’s how I feel, whatever else there may be.”

Friends talk to each other. Friends tell each other what they’re doing. The accusations went silent between them. Unbidden, Zack sighs and leans back, beginning to explain.

“The Turks contacted me,” He begins, slumped in the chair. “Offered me a chance to get Aerith out of the city safely, before the shit hits the fan.”

Sephiroth blinks. “I was under the impression she was safe under Tseng’s watch.”

“The guy’s worried about the shift in leadership.” Zack tells him. “With no clue who’s gonna be in charge, he doesn’t know if the orders about Aerith will change or not. Better safe than sorry.”

“I did not realize it was up in the air.” The man’s brow furrows. “That does not make sense. Rufus Shinra would be eager to take his father’s place… unless…”

“Unless Tseng pressured him not to?” Zack smirks and nods. “He’s convinced this isn’t over. The assassins that took out the President – nothing stopping them from coming back to finish the last member of the family off.”

“He’s keeping him out of the running to protect him.” Sephiroth realizes. His gaze narrows. “Who does that leave?”

“Reeve Tuesti,” The other says, before hesitating, his voice darkening. “And Hojo.”

“I see.” No wonder they were in a rush to get Aerith out. “I understand now. Your reason for insisting on coming with me to this location, and for disappearing today.”

The man shakes his head vehemently. “No, that’s not – Seph. They didn’t make the offer until after I already told you I was coming with you.”

Confused once more, Sephiroth sits up further. “I don’t –“

“I came here for _you_.” A light punch to the silver haired man’s chest accentuates his meaning. “I insisted on coming because no one should have to face these kinds of things by themselves. I wasn’t supposed to be gone as long as I was today, but of course the Turks weren’t on time.”

It could be true. Possibly, but – “You could have informed me of the mission.”

Zack’s eyes soften. “I didn’t want to put you in that position. I know Hojo’s important to you. I wouldn’t want you to have to choose between supporting your dad and your, um… friend.” The sentence is finished weakly, unsure. Sephiroth’s chest tightens.

“He is not my father.” The vehement tone takes Zack by surprise. The man blinks as his commanding officer turns to face him. “You need not worry about my being compromised in reference to him. Prof. Hojo is no – family of mine.”

A slow grin comes to Zack’s face. “About time.” He chuckles. “I must have missed something big. Y’know something besides the fact that you apparently fought this kid?” Zack, sitting up a little, leans over to look at Cloud. “You can stop playing possum you know.”

“It seemed like you were having a moment.” The sleepy blonde mutters, rolling over. Tired eyes blink once, twice, settle on Sephiroth and widen. “Why are you in my bed?”

“Did you not just hear me talking to him?”

“Well, yeah but,” Cloud blinks blearily. “I didn’t realize he was – this is my bed.”

“Yes, it is.” Sephiroth tells him. “I am glad you are not so injured that you cannot recognize basic facts.”

Zack bursts into cackles of laughter when that comment gets Sephiroth kicked onto the floor.


	8. Northward Bound

In all her years, Jean Strife’s child had brought only a single friend over to the house to visit. And yet, in the course of a few days, the woman found herself with half a dozen strangers in her living room.

Most notably, the General himself, who currently happens to be brooding on her couch, in the middle of an impromptu gathering that Mrs. Strife isn’t sure she’s part of. Her son is there, seated on the fireplace, so she stays, watching.

“How’re things back home?” The other SOLDIER, Zack, asks. He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, and beside him is his girlfriend, who came out of bumfuck nowhere. Mrs. Strife is still very confused about that one.

Sephiroth sighs. “Not well.” His gaze lifts, back straightens, and suddenly he seems to command all the power and attention of the room, as if he towers over them, despite the fact he’s still sitting. “In total, twelve were killed in the attack two days ago. The President and four department heads were among them, including the Director of SOLDIER. Since then, control of the organization has fallen to the Turks and their connections in various facets of Shinra, but obviously they cannot be in total control for long.”

“Not that they wouldn’t love that.” Zack snorts.

“Tseng might grow weary of it after long.” Sephiroth replies with a small smirk. “The insurgents responsible for the attack have been identified as a Wutaian freedom group known as Leviathan, and while most members were captured or killed, some escaped including the leader of the operation. Tseng has agents tracking them down but at the moment nothing is conclusive.”

“So, why isn’t the president’s son taking over?” Cloud chimes in. “I mean doesn’t he want to?”

“Pssh, yeah.” Zack chuckles. “The guy tried to overthrow his dad a few years ago, he’d definitely jump at the chance.”

“Zackary.” Sighing, Sephiroth turns to the blond. “Tseng believes it is inadvisable at this time, given the escape of many of Leviathan’s members, and the general chaos which may encourage other enemies to attempt to cull the last remaining Shinra from the planet.”

“AVALANCE.” The girl – Aerith, was it? – speaks up for the first time. She’s a pretty young thing, and someone else might’ve questioned her place at this conference of SOLDIERS and warriors. But Jean Strife could see the girl’s calloused hands, and the staff she carried in with her. This is no wilting flower.

Sephiroth nods at Aerith’s comment. “For the moment, Rufus is withdrawing his candidacy, which leaves the remaining department heads. Reeve Tuesti is a small time mechanist, little known even within the company. He’s reserved and keeps to himself, and is unlikely to have much support in a bid for the Presidency.”

“Which leaves Hojo.” Vincent, hovering in the corner, scowls. “He will undoubtedly be unwilling to give up such power once it is his.”

To that Sephiroth nods. “Precisely. He can’t be allowed to take it.”

“Gah.” Cloud hangs his head, running a hand over his spiky hair. “I didn’t know what I was getting into when I went to Midgar, huh?” He lifts his gaze to her. “Sorry, ma.”

“Don’t apologize.” She steps forward, her cane making a light clack with every step across the floorboards. “In fact, this might work out in your favor, mister General.” Mrs. Strife nods to him. The man cocks an eyebrow. “This new temporary leader of yours – it’s gotta be somebody Shinra, and a head of department, right?”

The man nods. “That would be the best candidate. A scientist would be a good bonus as well, given the type of work Shinra is focused on.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Jean carefully maneuvers herself into the nearest chair, both hands resting on the cane in front of her. She’s quiet for a moment. Preoccupied. Finally, she speaks again. “I knew a man once who fit that description. Scientist, worked for Shinra, ‘fore he said screw ‘em and went to work for himself. He was head of some department or another, though I’m pretty sure it went under without him around.”

“Really?” Zack, turning to her, scratches his head. “Seems a little too convenient. I mean I’ve never heard of a Shinra Department Head just – what, retiring?”

“He didn’t exactly retire,” Jean chuckles. “He walked out on ‘em. Well, he was gonna sit and mope but I kicked his ass in gear.”

“Who the hell is this ma?” Cloud asks, perplexed. “I’ve never heard you mention anyone like that.”

The woman smirks. “I might have mentioned him once or twice.”

* * *

  
_“Goddamnit!”_

_Jean blinked; that was a rough, country drawl she was hearing, cussing up a storm down the hall, and with it came the constant clanging and banging of metal being kicked and tossed around. The sounds were so familiar she almost felt she were home suddenly, back in Nibelheim, rather than wandering a Shinra facility across the country._

_Obviously, it was enough to peak her curiosity._

_So, she strode down the hall and into the hanger that was the source of the noise, and saw a tall rugged blonde mechanic covered in grease, with steam practically spewing from his ears. He was pretty cute, for being such a hothead. It was a hot day and the man had taken off his shirt to compensate, and it was easy to see his line of work kept him in shape. Nice shape. Jean, with a small grin, leaned back against the wall with her arms crossed, and watched him pitch a fit, appreciating the few._

_It only took a few more cusses for the man to finally notice he wasn’t alone. Blushing to his ears, the stranger’s fit slowed to a halt, hands down by his sides, mouth slightly agape._

_“Hi,” Jean said._

_“Hi, yourself,” The man grumbled, clearly embarrassed and trying not to show it. He brushed his hands on his pants and turned away with a huff, stalking back over to the nearest desk. There was a few empty beers and a pack of cigarettes there; he grabbed a fresh one of each, before collapsing into the chair beside the desk._

_Jean watched him do it, listened to the sotto voce grumbles and moans, head half cocked curiously. “Bad day?”_

_The man huffed. “You could say that.” Leaning back, he motioned to the large window near them. Jean followed his gaze and immediately understood – outside the window stood the Rocket, Shinra’s pride and glory, until yesterday. “Damn shame.” She said, turning back to him. “You part of the project?”_

_He took a long, long swig of his beer. “Head of the Department of Space Exploration.” He said. “Former Head.”_

_“… well, shit.”_

_“Heh.” The man grumbled again. “That’s a word for it.” Dark eyes narrowed with another sip of beer. “I can think of a ton more.”_

_“So, what’re gonna do now?”_

_“The fuck does it look like?” Frowning, he turned his chair away from her. “I’m gonna drink and then take a piss. Then drink some more.”_

_“I meant ‘bout the rocket, dumbass.”_

_“Fuckin’ nothin’!” The man screamed, red faced. “There’s nothing to do. It’s dead. Whole damn project’s dead. Shinra axed it.”_

_“So?” Shrugging, Jean crossed her arms. “I don’t seem ‘em hauling it away. Pretty sure rockets can run without Shinra’s tax money.”_

_“Pff.” He hesitated in taking another swig, but eventually did so. “Stupid. Ain’t got shit to work with without Shinra. Just me and that damn hunk a junk.”_

_“More than nothin’.”_

_He hesitated, looking at her out the corner of his eye. “Who the hell’re you, anyway?”_

_Cornflower blue. She remembers thinking his eyes were as bright and beautiful as the sky he kept reaching for. And in that instant, she wanted to see him reach it._

* * *

  
“This man have a name?”

“Sure does,” The woman shrugs, glancing off. “Fuck if I can remember.”

“Really, ma?” Cloud snorts, staring incredulously at his mother. “You can remember all this but not who the man is?”

“I can remember a lot more about him.” She can’t help but taunt the boy. A suggestive smile accompany her words.

Zack holds up his hands. “More importantly, can you get us into contact with him?”

“Not really.” The woman scratches her head.

“Then why the hell did you mention him!?”

“I know where he lives.” Jean says. “Rocket Town, north of here. I assume he’s still there, drinking on his lazy ass or tinkering on that project of his. If you can find him, you might convince him to play along with this scheme of yours.”

“Do you think he would attempt to keep control of Shinra as President, if he obtained such power?” Sephiroth asks, eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

“Pfft, hell no.” The woman cackles. “He hates Shinra. But he’ll help you out if only to screw Hojo over. Hates him, too.”

“Then it seems we have no choice.” The General finishes. “Our… mission in Nibelheim will have to wait. We will make for Rocket Town in the morning.”

* * *

  
It’s strange, to be surrounded by so many people, by so much life. Even in the last few years, moving around Nibelheim, Vincent’s never been in such close confines with others before. On the outskirts, he watches, hovering in the dark with his eyes on the children. Heh. They’re all grown adults, in their early twenties, yet to him they are most certainly children.

A bark of laughter catches his ear; Cloud sounds happy. It’s nice to hear him so. The boy had never been a very cheerful person, even on his best day, he was inclined to be serious and quiet. But the brunet, Zack, and even his girlfriend Aerith, whom Cloud had never met before today, seem to be drawing him out of his shell. It’s good for him.

Still, this whole scenario worries him. He’d never wanted Cloud to become involved with Shinra, and certainly not to this extent. Unbidden Vincent’s gaze drifts to Sephiroth. The man is nearby, yet not too close to the others; hovering, like Vincent, just out of reach. But he is closer than Vincent is, because he wants to be part of the group, even if he does not know how to be. It’s clear on his face. He aches to be accepted amongst others. If only he could see that Zack and Cloud clearly already had.

Setting those thoughts aside for a moment, Vincent strolls through the house, to the front porch. Mrs. Strife sits in her rocking chair, a beer in one hand, staring out into the cold bitter night. There’s a lamp on the railing; that is the only light shed on the small, snow covered porch.

“Have a seat, Mr. Valentine,” The woman motions to the chair next to her. He takes it with a nod. She’s always had a second sense for him. Rarely has he taken her by surprise. “What can I do you for?”

“I have some questions about this man in Rocket Town.”

“Mmmhmm,” She smiles. “I imagined you would. You or that boy of yours.”

“Boy…?”

Turning, Mrs. Strife sets a knowing gaze on him. “He’s as inquisitive and detail-oriented as you are. I keep feeling like somebody’s watching me and I don’t know if it’s your sharp eyes or his. Like a damn hawk on my shoulder.”

“I…” It hits him. Her, too? Scowling, Vincent turns away, clenching his fists. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You do, too.” The woman insists with a scowl. “Trust me, I know kids. I know what being a parent is, and it’s not blood, it’s a feeling. And I see it in your eyes every time you look at him. So blood or not, he’s yours. Though I’d bet my fucking house that he’s your blood too. Look at the boy!”

He’s been trying not to. Every time he does all he can see is a woman covered in blood and tears, _I’m sorry Vincent, I’m so sorry_. “Please… stop.”

Jean hesitates. Narrow eyes watch him carefully, and she nods. Without missing a beat she simply changes the subject. “I met him almost… more than 20 years ago, now. I worked for Shinra as a temp for a while, extra muscle while they ferried their scientists around the western continent. Their presence wasn’t as strong back then, and they didn’t have the man power to send SOLDIERs over all the time. So, they hired outside their own force.”

“Mercenaries.” Vincent manages. He remembers working with some of the like in his time.

She nods. “They picked me up in Cosmo Canyon, looking for bodyguards for a trip to Mideel. I stuck with em for a while. Pay was good, and I had nothing else to do. Eventually I followed them along up north to the rocket project. You were probably asleep back then, but there was a time Shinra was aiming to get a flying ship into outer space. Almost worked, too. But eventually they decided to stop funding it, and the whole thing sank. The Department shut down and this buddy of mine lost his job.”

“You truly do not remember his name?”

She hedges, glances up. “Didn’t want to say. Too easy for prying minds to start digging around.”

Vincent hums. He’d thought so. “This man… what was your relation to him?”

Her eyes drift to his, knowing. He meets her gaze. She’s a handsome woman. Tall, well built, though she’s begun to grow thinner and bonier in her older years. At perhaps 40 years old, she’s still a great beauty, and Vincent can imagine she must have been striking 20 years ago.

“Does Cloud know?”

She glances away. “I didn’t want to say anything ‘cause I don’t know one way or the other. I always – suspected it was him. But I didn’t want to say somethin’ and be wrong about it.”

Vincent nods. “Will you tell me more of him?” He wants to know as much as he can, going into this. Even with just the Shinra side to deal with, there’s too much at stake to leave anything to chance. And if this is personal as well…

Jean nods, and begins to speak.

* * *

  
_“The hell’re you doin’ woman?”_

_He hadn’t stopped complaining since she grabbed him and started walking. Hadn’t even stood when she moved; he was still in the damn rolling office chair he’d sat in, not that Jean cared. She just dragged him along, and the wheels made it easier. Though when the idiot drunk dropped his beer on a curve he wouldn’t shut up about it._

_“Quit yer yappin!” She spat, finally coming to a halt before a door. Jean let go of the chair, and the momentum sent him careening into the wall by the door. He ended up a cursing bruised mess on the floor, serves him right. The woman smirked._

_The door opened, and a young black haired man in a suit appeared. Jean smiled. “Got a minute, Veld?” She asked, reaching out and grabbing the blond from the floor. “I got a proposition for your boss.”_

_Blinking, Veld glanced from one to the other. “I see,” He began. “And what is this proposition.”_

_“What’s the retirement plan for former Shinra employees?”_

_Veld just blinks. “I believe the young man you’re holding is a little young to retire.”_

_“Sure, but he was a damn Head of Department, right? A bigwig. He’s gotta have somethin’ in the bank he’s owed.” By the way Veld’s eyes narrowed, Jean could tell she’d hit the mark. “Gotcha. So, even if he doesn’t work for Shinra another damn day, y’all gotta pay him, right? Bet that irks the shit outta Mr. Shinra.”_

_“What is it you want?” Crossing his arms, Veld glanced downward. “Or, should I say, he wants?”_

_“I dun wan’ shit from you!” The man grumbled, drunkenly swiping in Veld’s general direction and missing by a mile. “Fuckin’ hypocrites and asswipes…”_

_“Mr. Likeable here would like to have all the rights and ownership to this land and what’s on it.”_

_Veld blinks. “And you believe Mr. Shinra will just give it to him?”_

_“Between owning land he can’t get any profit out of, and money, what do you think he’ll pick?”_

_“Heyy, hey!” Finally, the drunk in her hands seemed to notice something of importance was happening. Stumbling, the man forced his way to his feet, leaning heavily on the woman for assistance. “The fuck are you doin?”_

_“Trust me, blondie,” The woman insisted. “You wanna fly your damn rocket? Do as I say. Get the damn land.”_

_“I will speak to my superiors.” Veld told her. “Perhaps you should… tidy him up.”_

_That led to a lot of lovely expletives from said drunk, which Veld simply ignored, shutting the door on them._

* * *

"Did he receive the rights?"

Jean nods. “Sure did. Barely took Shinra half a second to take that deal up. The rocket was useless to him ‘cause it didn’t earn him a dime, and it would just cost more money to repurpose the labs and destroy the rocket. Better to just leave it as is, cut his loses, and let the man have it. And on top of that, he wouldn’t have to pay the man’s pension or any of that shit. Win, win.”

“And your scientist friend would be left with all the supplies he needed, and the rocket to work on.”

“Better than that!” Chuckling, Jean sits up straighter, a grin on her face. “Western continent today is doing pretty good for itself, but twenty years ago? I’m sure you saw some of it, in your day. People were piss poor. Fucking shit, we were poor. Screw money, we just wanted shit to eat. And the land up north is damn beautiful. Round that rocket was miles of fertile earth and unpopulated land just waitin’ for people to move in.”

“You gave him leverage.” Vincent blinks, stunned. “Incentive he could use to hire others to help him build his rocket.”

“Yup.” She smiles. “That’s why there’s a town there now, you know. Rocket Town – fucking inventive, really? Pfft. But it worked. He’s got airships and all kinds of shit up there. Hasn’t hit space I don’t think. Last I heard they were looking for a better alternative fuel source.”

Vincent eyes the woman with a small smile on his face. “You are an inspiring woman, Mrs. Strife.”

Meeting his gaze, the woman winks at him. “Aw, you’re sweet, Vincent,” She says, “But I’m too young for you.”

* * *

 

  
Sephiroth remains awake long after the others. The hours tick away, and one by one, they drift off to rest. Aerith, at Cloud’s insistence, takes his bed in the attic; Cloud collapses into an arm chair, and Zack onto the floor, and they chat back and forth in the dark until both drift to sleep. The house is quiet and dimly lit and still, Vincent Valentine and Jean Strife sit outside, talking.

Sephiroth waits; stands in the kitchen leaning on the counter, listening unobtrusively. They’ve talked about many things; the “children” (himself included, apparently, to the man’s amusement), the village, the stranger up north, Shinra in general. Finally, around midnight, Mrs. Strife calls it a night, heading to her room at the end of the first floor hallway. Vincent bids her goodnight, returning to the living room, right next to the kitchen.

They are the last ones awake. Sephiroth knows the other is aware of him. He watches the brunette with narrowed eyes, though the man never turns to look at him.

“You should rest,” Vincent says. “We have a long journey ahead of us.”

“I need less sleep than humans.” Sephiroth tells him.

“You are human.” The man finally looks up; he seems unable to help himself, ruby eyes flaring. “Don’t speak so of yourself.”

Sephiroth shrugs; he’s not human, but he won’t argue the point. “Either way, I can function well so long as I have two hours.” It won’t feel great, but that’s besides the point. “I have questions for you.”

Vincent sighs. “I imagined you would.”

Nervous, anxious jitters hit him suddenly. Maybe he shouldn’t say anything. Maybe he should wait. Or never ask at all. Maybe this isn’t the right time or there never will be a right time, and why does the man look so sad just looking at Sephiroth?

_Why do I hurt you so much?_

Sephiroth is used to hurting others. In battles, in training, at work. Or in social scenarios he doesn’t understand. But he’s done nothing. Vincent just… won’t look at him. Or, when he does, he looks close to crying.

“Forgive me,” Sephiroth says finally. “It can wait.” Perhaps forever.

A sigh; Then, a pair of hands comes down onto the counter in front of him, dangerously close to his own.

3.9 inches. Vincent’s longest finger is as long as Sephiroth’s own, off only by a millimeter or two. Sephiroth’s eyes dart over his form, taking in the numbers, the similarities. He says nothing.

“I knew your mother.” Vincent begins. “We were – close. It is a painful subject for me, but I will do my best to face it for you.”

Why? “I’m nothing to you.” Clearly this man does not share the suspicions that Sephiroth does. Vincent does not see Sephiroth as… progeny. So why?

“You’re wrong.” Slowly, Sephiroth lifts his gaze. Crimson eyes bore into his own, strong, overpowering. “You’re her son.”

“So it is for my mother’s sake, out of the love you had for her.” That he can understand. It is not that Vincent loves him; he just loves Lucrecia Crescent. The distant memory of a woman Sephiroth never knew.

“No,” Vincent insists just as vehemently. “I knew you before you knew yourself. I was there when you were barely alive, when your mother picked your name. I helped her decorate your room and pick out a crib. Before… before everything went wrong, I was a part of your life. You matter to me, Sephiroth.”

He’s choking. His vision blurs slightly and Sephiroth refuses to allow for tears, lifting his head to keep them from falling. Still, he’s choking on his heart and its pounding hard in his throat and he can’t keep himself from asking –

“Am I your son?”

Vincent’s power and surety, the firmness in his eyes and tone, vanish in an instant. His gazes goes soft and sad; he slumps. “No,” The man shakes his head slowly. “You cannot be. You _cannot_ be.”

Sephiroth swallows the lump in his throat. “I understand.” But he walks away. Even as Vincent reaches for him, says his name, he walks away, because he can’t face this.

He knows he is right. He knows it. What hurts is the denial from this man, who clearly does not want to even consider the thought Sephiroth could be his. Not that he blames him. Vincent Valentine has had enough of his humanity taken from him, has suffered enough pain. He shouldn’t be saddled with a son like… him.

Sephiroth collapses onto the ground in the backyard, arms wrapped around his knees. He listens as Vincent collapses to the ground in the kitchen, sobbing. Listens as quiet feet patter across the floor, and Cloud’s voice comforts and consoles the other. Listens as they leave, and as Zack’s breathing pattern evens out into actual sleep twenty minutes after. Listens as the girl upstairs paces anxiously across the room. Listens as Strife’s mother curses and tosses about the bed, unable to sleep.

He can hear all of it. Like a bat, or a predator, a monster of some kind. Sometimes, he really wishes he was one. He knows better how to play the role, than how to be a human being.

* * *

  
Nibelheim folk like to believe they are friendly, welcoming people. They aren’t, but it’s the pretext that counts. If somebody new is in the neighborhood, you should be nice and introduce yourself and bring over a pie to welcome them to town. Whispering about them behind their back and silently praying they won’t stick around notwithstanding, you’ve gotta look like you want them around.

It’s a time honored tradition, and damn it if Tifa won’t continue it. She doesn’t honestly give a rat’s ass about General Sephiroth, but hey, if General Sephiroth is in your neighborhood you probably should make him a pie. For propriety’s sake. Course, Tifa can’t make pies, so cake will have to do.

So, first thing in the morning, Tifa Lockhart knocks at the Strife household, and waits to be let in. She expects Cloud, Mrs. Strife, or maybe Vincent to answer the door.

She does not expect the beautiful brunette woman she’s never before seen in her life.

“Oh, hello,” The stranger smiles and the room is suddenly full of sunlight. Its 9 am in Nibelheim and the snow is up to her knees but Tifa’s never felt warmer. “Ooh, is that chocolate?” She’s beaming at the cake and Tifa can do nothing but hand it over.

“It’s for the – family.” She manages to say.

“Did you make this yourself?”

“I – yes,” Flushing brightly, Tifa nods. “I cake. I mean, I make cake. Bake cake. I make and bake cake.”

“It’s delicious!” She’s beaming and Tifa’s heart does a backflip. Someone else is coming up the hall but Tifa barely notices.

“What’s going on?”

“Cloud’s friend brought us cake.” That beaming smile turns to the stranger walking up, a tall man who smiles at the woman and leans in for a kiss.

“You missed some,” He says with a wink. Tifa’s hopes and dreams wither up, and she dies a little inside.

“Tifa?”

Cloud appears, and Tifa can’t help but frown heavily. It’s his fault somehow. She wants someone to blame, and he will do. So the woman walks into the house, trying to look calm and normal, until she can round the corner and catch the blond in a chokehold, out of sight of the others.

“H – Hey? What the hell?”

“I hate you,” She grumbles. “You and your cute straight friends. Damnit. They’ll make such beautiful children. I hate their future beautiful children.”

“Teef, you are not makin’ a lick of sense.”

“Shuddap. Give me a minute to be emotional, then you can explain what’s up with all these people in your house.”

* * *

  
They leave Nibelheim by noon, trudging on foot over Mt. Nibel. It is not a fun trip, nor most likely the best idea, but it is their only option. With the helicopter their only means of returning to Midgar, they can’t afford to waste the energy on a trip north. So, Sephiroth makes the call, and they hoof to towards Rocket Town.

Zack complains the entire time. Cloud eventually gives into the urge and shoves him face first in the snow.

It’s not the worst trip in the world. The weather is relatively tame for the season, and they came well prepared, with plenty of warm clothes and shelter. Between the six of them, they had enough gear to keep comfy.

Cloud can’t believe he’s on what basically counts as a camping trip with not only General Sephiroth, but his weird second in command, said SiC’s girlfriend, Cloud’s childhood best friend, and the weird guy Cloud found in a basement.

His life is strange.

Still, at least it’s not boring. Smiling to himself, Cloud hefts his bag higher, trying to ignore how it hurts. He’d healed mostly from his battle with Sephiroth but was still rather sore. _It’s going to be a long trip north_ , the man sighs.


	9. Fun with Ninjas

_Days Earlier_   
_The Day of President Shinra’s Assassination_

She moves swiftly and silently through the shadows, even with the weight on her back. The man groans and she whispers to him, trying to keep him quiet as she moves. Sirens are blaring all around, every screen and television flashing with the news. PRESIDENT DEAD, KILLERS ON THE RUN.

Coming to a halt at a corner, the girl glances into the street and curses. A squad of Shinra military grunts line the exit, and even more are running around them searching the area. It won’t be long before she’s caught.

A whisper at her ear draws her attention. The man speaks to her; her eyes widen. She shakes her head furiously but he keeps talking. Finally, she gives a slow nod, biting at her lip, and helps him down off her back.

Blood is coating the floor beneath him. Seeing it, she realizes he’s long gone already. The man meets her eyes and smiles, before gritting his teeth. Then he’s gone, blade drawn and screaming in Wutaiese at the soldiers. She takes advantage of the opening he’s given her, darting for the entrance to the underground nearby. As she dives below, she hears the gunshots. Every one has her flinching with phantom pain.

Distracted and distraught her foot misses the next step on the ladder and she falls, unable to catch herself. Pain shoots like knives through her skull, followed by flashing lights, then nothing.

Next she knows, she’s in agony and lying down, unable to see, and panicking.

“Hey, hey, slow it down!” Footsteps, heavy ones, approach her. Then she’s being pushed down, which she reacts to with a swift hit to the solar plexus. “Shit, the fuck you -?”

She sits all the way up, and realizes suddenly she’s not held down, and she’s not blindfolded – there was an ice pack on her head, which fell off when she righted herself.

The young woman looks around to see not a prison cell, but a small bedroom, cheaply decorated, and a large dark skinned man seated beside her. She tenses immediately, and goes for her weapon which to her shock is no longer at her waist.

“Who are you?” She asks, fear coloring her face. “What do you want? Where are we? You haven’t touched me have you? I swear, if you’ve done anything gross I’ll kick the crap out of you! I’m a ninja!”

“Damn kid, chill!” The man holds up his hands – his huge hands, one of which is holy shit made of metal – leaning back. “I didn’t touch you! I mean, I touched you –“

“I knew it!” Leaping into a crouch, the girl holds her fists up, furious.

“To heal you! Shit!” Scoffing, the man shakes his head. “You are one tightly wired kid.”

It occurs to her suddenly that the man is right – she doesn’t hurt. Glancing down she sees all her wounds, both from the fight against Shinra and the fall, are healed or bandaged. But why? She’s dressed in all black, in clothing typical of Wutai, in the ninja style. She even has her country’s symbol on the shoulder, and the symbol for Leviathan on her back. It’s all over the news. He has to know what she is, right?

Brows furrowed, the girl looks at him. “Why help me?”

The man snorts. “You kiddin’?” Then laughs. “Your people killed President Scumbag. Far as I’m concerned, you’re my damn best friend.” He smiles, and the warmth in it is kind, friendly. Almost fatherly. She finds herself settling, feeling comforted despite her unease. “Name’s Barret Wallace.”

The girl blinks. She hesitates for only a second. “I’m – the White Rose.” Flushing, she catches herself. She’d almost said her real name! “Look, thanks for your help, but I can’t stay here.”

“No, shit.” The man says. “You got a plan to get out?”

Her look falls.

“That’s what I thought.” Barret chuckles. “Look, you want out of Midgar? I can get you out. Give me a little time, I’ll put it together.” He stands as he speaks. “Just lay low, alright?”

Frowning, the girl follows him with her eyes. “Why? What do you get out of it?”

He smiles again. “Enemy of my enemy and all that, right?” Then he’s gone, leaving the girl with more questions than answers.

 

* * *

 

The security at the gate is tough like nobody’s business. Barret had seen that coming, of course; so many of Shinra dead, and more than 8 of the insurgents involved hadn’t been found or caught. Travel within the city, and especially without, had been all but stopped. The first day, no one went anywhere. A few days after, travel was finally permitted but every gate was heavily guarded, and getting through meant having ID and passing a background check.

Barret, luckily, has always kept his official persona safe. He’s never been caught during his… side work with AVALANCHE, so getting through should be easy enough. He hopes.

“What’s with the bag?”

Barret glances at the canvas bag resting over his shoulder. “Camping gear,” He says. “Heading home to Correl to visit family.” That will check out, and hopefully the fact that he looks nothing like a Wutai nationalist will help.

The man frowns at the screen, but eventually nods. “You can go.”

Just barely Barret holds the sigh of relief in. He’s been in places where he could get in trouble, but nothing like this – harboring a fugitive who helped murder the president could literally get him killed. But it looks as if the worst is over. He’s strolling out the gate, heading towards the wilderness with long, steady strides.

Still. It’s a long damn way to Wutai. Not that he said he was gonna help this girl out that much. That’s a big commitment, and he’s got other people to think of. Jessie’s watching Marlene for the moment, and Barret trusts her with his life and Marlene’s… but a trip to Wutai would take months. He can’t be without his baby girl for that long.

Once they’re far enough from Midgar that he can’t see the gate anymore, Barret sets the bag down. “Coast’s clear.”

The bag unfurls, and the young brunette steps out. “Whew, I was roasting in there!” Shaking herself off, the girl adjusts her new clothes. It’s nothing fancy, just a pair of shorts and a shirt, but it does a lot to keep her from looking like a runaway criminal. “Thanks for the help.”

“No problem, like I said.” Barret hesitates, rubbing the back of his head. “You sure you’re good to go from here?”

“Yeah!” The woman beams. She hefts her weapon onto her shoulder – something Barret had purchased for her, a giant ninja star he’s a little reluctant to let her have. Yes, he knows this “White Rose” is a legal adult and member of a resistance military – but she’s so young. Every instinct has him taking the sharp pointy thing and shuffling the girl off to the nearest place of safety that isn’t the monster infested wilderness.

She’s still grinning at him. “Really, thanks. You saved my hide.” Then, with a small wave, she turns, and just walks away. And Barret stands there, watching, and all he can think is this little girl is someone else’s baby girl, and if Marlene were ever in this situation on her own, crossing the damn world by herself…

“Damn it,” Barret mutters, before taking after her.

* * *

  
_North of Nibelheim_

There’s so many god damn wolves.

Huffing with annoyance Cloud tugs his sword out of the body of one and almost falls back in doing so. Tifa manages to prop him up with her shoulder, grinning at him.

“Lucky I tagged along.” She winks. Another wolf is rushing her and Cloud doesn’t even have to warn her before the woman turns and punches the shit out of it. The blond watches with admiration. Much as he loves swords, he admires the hell out of Tifa for her fighting style and the fact that she just punched a wolf in the face.

When the girl had learned about their plan to travel north, she’d insisted on tagging along to watch Cloud’s back. The man had been touched – sure, they were close friends and there for each other, but there was something different about agreeing to become involved in political intrigue and spy shit for said friend.

Cloud had tried to say so, insisting she not become involved, but Tifa wouldn’t have it. “Besides,” She’d said, “I still have to arm wrestle the General.”

Aerith had been as determined as Tifa, only she had been arguing with Zack, not Cloud. The man had begged and pleaded with her to remain safely in Nibelheim but she wouldn’t hear it. And when Zack had turned to his superior for help, Sephiroth had merely cocked an eyebrow.

“She is the only proficient healer available to us.” The man had said. “As far as unnecessary or redundant skill sets go, I’d rather leave you behind.” Zack pouted and moped about that particular burn for a long time.

So here they were, six strange companions crossing a mountain range together. Two days had already passed, and the trip had become the journey from hell, if hell was cold and full of wolves.

Finally it seems the last of the wolves has been taken care of, the bodies strewn across the mountain. Cloud sighs, sweeping the blade through the air in an attempt to clean it of blood.

“Is all the wildlife here this friendly?” Zack huffs, approaching from ahead.

“Nibel wolves have always been notoriously unfriendly.” Cloud tells him. “Most stuff on the mountain is.”

“Hmm.” Vincent eyes the dead wolves with a sharp, narrowed gaze. “They were not acting like predators. They were simply driven to kill.”

Cloud notices Sephiroth barely tensing beside him – just a hint of movement he wouldn’t have noticed if they weren’t almost beside each other. The man stands in front and to the side of him, and Cloud can’t see his face, but he seems… uptight.

“Whatever.” The younger SOLDIER puts his arms behind his head. “Let’s get moving again. I’m beyond tired of snow.”

* * *

  
Camp was a makeshift circle of three tents centered around a fire pit hastily dug out of the snow. Everyone, even the General, gravitated to the warmth; save for Vincent, who claimed that he had long ago ceased feeling much of anything, physically at least. When no one could think of anything to say to that, Cloud swiftly cleared his throat and changed the subject.

“So,” He starts, seated on a log with his elbows on his knees. “What’s the plan, Stan?”

Sephiroth blinks. “That is not my name.”

Faltering, the blond sighs. “I know it’s not – it’s a saying. A phrase. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Back to the question – what are we doing after we find this guy?”

“I will be escorting him to Shinra Headquarters with Lt. Fair.” The General begins. Beside him, Zack sits, watching his boss talk while stuffing his face full of one of the sandwiches Mrs. Strife packed for them. “Hopefully his presence will be enough of a catalyst to buy us time to prove Hojo’s wrongdoings, and expel him from the company. Then, someone may step in and take the reins until the chaos dies down and Rufus Shinra can safely step in.”

“Is that really a good plan?” Aerith snorts. She’s sitting on Zack’s left, picking at twigs absentmindedly, throwing the broken pieces in the fire. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, you know.”

“Is this another phrase?” Sephiroth’s eyebrow tilts skyward.

“She means,” Vincent, hovering just outside the circle, approaches Sephiroth’s back. “That sons are much like their fathers. Rufus may be no different than the previous President was – the man who permitted Hojo to act as he did in the first place.”

Something tightens in Sephiroth’s face. He’s not looking at anyone, he’s staring into the snow, like it just spat in his face. Then he blinks and the stunned look is gone. “Yes. There is that risk. For the moment, we must work on the assumption that he will eventually take over the company, and worry about the rest later.”

“Yeah, one catastrophe at a time,” Zack comments around his food. “’Sides, Rufus can’t be all that bad. Tseng likes him.”

“Hmm,” Aerith hums, but doesn’t disagree.

“What about you?” Cloud pips up. He’s nervous, hands jittery, and he clenches them to keep them from moving. “I mean…” Sephiroth just blinks and offers no comment. Sighing, Cloud shrugs. “You know… with … the stuff.”

“Brilliant, spiky,” Zack remarks. Cloud grabs a ball of snow and tosses it at his face.

He doesn’t really want to say ‘remember that time you went berserk and kicked my ass’? But he’s pretty sure that whole event is god damn important. Because there is something out there that can drive the most powerful man in the world into an uncontrollable, unreasonable killing machine, and Cloud has no idea what triggered it. Neither does Sephiroth.

But he can’t bring himself to say it. Not here, not in this peaceful setting where for once Sephiroth looks a little… normal. He’s slouching on the log, face lit up by warm firelight, eyes half lidded and tired. There’s very little distance between him and the others out of necessity. Normally, Sephiroth keeps himself so far apart from everyone. It feels like saying anything about the incident would put all that distance back in… maybe not physically, but emotionally.

Cloud’s not sure when he got all Dr. Phil but it’s annoyingly hard to handle. Here he is, the only one who knows Sephiroth might suddenly decide he wants to kill them and no one can really stop him – save for sheer dumb luck – and out of nobility he’s keeping it to himself. Ugh.

He can’t even tell Vincent. The man is Sephiroth’s father, whether or not he’ll admit it, and the idea that Sephiroth might go nuts… that he might…

That’s not a road anyone wants to go down.

Cloud barely notices a nudge against his arm. Then, he’s nudged again, harder, and jumps. Turning, he sees Tifa leaning forward, concerned eyes wide. “You okay?”

He manages a nod. “Yeah just, - thinking.”

She nods in reply. Turning her gaze skyward, the brunette smiles. “You know, we’ve almost gotten past the summit.” She smiles wryly. “Tomorrow, we’ll be on the other side of the mountain.” Tifa’s gaze turns thoughtful. “All these years, and I’ll finally have crossed Mt. Nibel.”

“Oh…” Realizing, Cloud follows her gaze, up to the mountain’s peak. Heart heavy, he wraps an arm around her. “Right.” He squeezes, reassuringly, and she smiles.

“When your young it’s so hard to imagine your parents aren’t right there, right in front of you, like they always were. Where you can reach out and touch them.” She lowers her gaze to the fire. “But the truth is, though it seems like they’re gone, they’re always there, everywhere. Just ‘cause you can’t reach them…” Tifa turns to look at him. “Doesn’t mean they can’t reach you. Right?”

Slowly, he kinda nods. “That sounds… a little creepy when you put it that way.”

She elbows him, hard. “Jerk. I was trying to be profound here.”

“Please, stop. It’s painful.” Another elbow to the gut. “I have wounds you know.”

“I’ll give you some more to go with them.”

“Children, please.” The two are interrupted by Zack, who is standing opposite them across the fire. “Some of us are about to try and sleep.”

“Is it bedtime already?” Tifa stands, giving a stretch. “I guess I could use the rest.”

“How’re we sleeping?” Cloud stands too, though he’s far from tired. “What’s the setup?”

“Well, I guess –“

“The women will be together.” Vincent – who had been all but absent for most of the night – suddenly makes a reappearance. Almost from nowhere in the shadows, he appears, standing outside the circle. Zack squawks in shock, half falling over. “Cloud, you will share with the General. Zack will be with me.”

Cloud’s brain halts to a stop, and his mouth drops open. “Wait – what?”

“Yeah, what?” Zack scratches his head. “This is a little weird.”

“You will be with me,” Vincent insists, turning to glare at the younger man, “Because you are currently the only young man here with a paramour. I will see to it that there is no… funny business.”

Zack’s face turns to about the same shade of red as Vincent’s cape. Aerith blushes some too, but mostly giggles at the flabbergasted look on her boyfriend’s face.

Cloud, meanwhile, has absolutely no color in his face – he’s horrified. Dumbstruck. Having a heart attack, possibly. Why would Vincent do this to him? Was he really so concerned about Aerith’s virtue that he would submit Cloud to the most torturous and painful night of his life?

Zack, sighing and shaking his head, agrees to Vincent’s set up and turns to get ready for bed. That prompts the rest of them to dismiss to their own activities. In the midst of the movement, Vincent turns, meets Cloud’s gaze – and smiles.

It clicks.

_He thinks he’s doing me a favor,_ Cloud gawks, stunned. _Wait – he’s setting us up!_

“Vincent!” He fumes, knowing the man can hear him even as he turns and walks away to brood further from camp. In fact, Cloud could almost swear the man was chuckling.

* * *

  
“Ah, is this uncomfortable for you because you are sexually attracted to me?”

Laying on the round in his sleeping bag in the tent, back towards Sephiroth, Cloud groans heavily. “Oh my god, why would you bring that up now?”

“I am merely trying to subvert any possible conflict by addressing the issue.”

“This is the opposite of that. You are creating conflict. This is a conflict you have created.” Cloud huffs. “The best way to avoid it is to ignore it.”

“I apologize.” Sephiroth sounds stiff, huffy. Still, Cloud thinks it’s better than the cold stilted tone from earlier.

Turning a little, Cloud looks over his shoulder at the man. All he can see are silver waves of hair, glistening with what little light there is. He’s huge, even from this angle, broad shoulders and torso almost a mountain range in and of themselves.

“I can sleep outside.”

“What – no,” Flushing, Cloud flips back over. “You’re fine. This is fine.”

“Hm.”

They stay silent for a while. Truly, it’s not fine – Cloud’s definitely feeling the attraction right now. It hasn’t been this hard for him to will away a hard-on since he was in his teens. But laying down inches away from the man he first masturbated to, the man he’s pretty sure is the most attractive person on the planet, is making it impossible to think of anything else.

“You did not tell anyone, did you?”

Cloud’s eyes flicker towards the man. “… no.” He knows what Sephiroth means. “I told them we were sparring. That I insisted on fighting with actual blades and it got out of hand.”

“No one suspected?”

Cloud shakes his head. “Honestly, if not for the storm, our wounds wouldn’t have looked that bad to them. We both heal pretty fast.” That was the truth. Cloud had been shocked to realize that his healing rate was as good as the General’s. He’d known he healed better than most people, but he hadn’t expected that.

“You think Vincent knows something?”

He nods at little, before speaking. “He went to the reactor, before. And that was your sole focus when you freaked out. He definitely knows something about it.”

“Hmm. I will have to speak to him of it.”

“No, let me.” Cloud flips onto his back, looking at the long, dark lines of the other man. “He’ll be more open with me.” It takes a while for the other man to reply. He remains stiff, unmoving – until finally Sephiroth slowly rolls over, lays on his back, looking up at the top of the tent.

“I have the feeling he does not like me.” Sephiroth starts. “Or – no. He likes me, but… he does not… want me?” Frowning, the man turns confused eyes towards the blond. “I do not understand.”

Cloud blinks. “I’m not sure I understand. What’re you on about?”

“In Midgar, Vincent revealed himself to Shinra in order to protect my life.” The man smirks at the thought, amused. “No one has ever attempted to protect me, before. Protection from me – of course. For me to protect them, yes. But never…”

“He cares about you.” Cloud murmurs. Suddenly he’s hyper aware of the fact that Vincent could be awake and possibly hearing everything they’re saying. If that’s a good or bad thing, he can’t say.

“Yet he refuses to acknowledge the possibility of our relationship. He claims to care for me, but any hint towards shared blood between us upsets him.”

Sighing, Cloud rolls onto his side, facing Sephiroth. “You have to understand, Vincent carries a lot of baggage. I don’t know the whole story, but I know he blames himself for what happened to you and your mom. But as much as the guilt and blame he carries is overwhelming… if he accepts the idea that you could be his blood, that guilt triples. In his mind, he’s even more guilty. It’s the difference between failing to save a friend and her son, and failing to save his own son and the mother of his son.”

For a moment the General is quiet. “What do you believe?”

“Hmm?”

“Of my parentage?”

Cloud clears his throat. “I think being a parent is about more than blood.” He starts. “And… blood or not, Vincent cares about you.”

Sephiroth turns his head, knowing eyes meeting Cloud’s. He knows – he knows Cloud believes Vincent is his father. But Cloud can’t bring himself to outright say it. Somehow… knowing Vincent could be listening, it feels like it would hurt him to do so.

“Give it time.” He mouths carefully, not speaking. Sephiroth nods in acknowledgement.

* * *

  
They make good time the next day, finally nearing the end of the frigid mountains. By midday they’re coming down the other side of Mt. Nibel, nearing the forests that line the other side of the range. Steep cliffs bar the way, and so before they can finally leave the snow behind, they must walk a ways along the mountain range, until the land opens up and they can move north, into the forest.

“Fun,” Cloud mutters when he hears the plan.

“You can’t complain,” Zack insists, hiking his bag further up his shoulder. “You’re used to this shit.” He emphasizes by kicking the snow at his feet. “Gongaga never had snow.”

“Gongaga?” Cloud sputters. “What kind of backwoods place is that?”

The black haired man smirks. “The same kind as Nibelheim.”

Cloud can’t help but grin at that. “Point taken.” He says. “So you’re a country boy?”

“Born and bred.” He replies. A minute later he chuckles. “Did you guys ever have those ‘GRITS’ sayings? Like on tee shirts and bags and shit?”

“Oh my god, yes!” Cloud laughs. “It was ‘Girl’ or ‘Guy’, ‘Raised in the Southern Continent’, right?”

“Yeah, how corny, right?” The SOLDIER sputters. “I never even liked grits to begin with.”

An overly dramatic gasp escapes the blond. “And you call yourself a country boy?” He shakes his head.

“They’re icky.”

“Nuh uh.” Cloud insists. “Cover ‘em in butter and syrup, they’re great.”

“I’m losing my appetite as we speak.”

Further ahead of the two boys, Sephiroth mumbles, “That’s a miracle,” and Cloud laughs at the affronted look on Zack’s face.

They keep trudging along, with Zack and Cloud at the rear, chatting up a storm. It’s so… friendly, and warm. Cloud can’t remember the last time he laughed so much. With Tifa, most likely, the only problem being that their friendship necessitated some discretion, since the mayor (her father) basically hated him.

Is that what this was? Friendship? Honest to gods, real friendship?

Cloud feels his stomach flutter a little.

“Look out!”

Blue-green eyes narrow and in an instant Cloud’s hand is to the handle of his blade. It’s his masterpiece, his work in progress, the First Tsurugi – somewhat altered and ready to fight again. And apparently, it’s about to.

But first, Cloud and company are covered in a tidal wave of snow.

The beast comes from above with an almighty roar, and when it lands near them the impact sends snow flying twenty feet in the air. Cloud hisses and covers his eyes, and when he can see again, almost gets knocked over by a dragon’s very angry tail swipe.

Only Zack’s quick thinking knocks them both to the ground, and to safety. Already panting heavily, Cloud manages a breathless, “Thanks”, as they both rush to stand again.

Sephiroth already has his blade out and is battling the creature; but this is one big, angry beast. Probably a mother protecting a nest, which they just had the unfortunate luck to come near. It wouldn’t be that much of an issue, but for three reasons.

One; they can’t run away. The dragon landed in the center of their little group, with Vincent, Sephiroth, and Aerith in front of the beast, and Tifa, Zack and Cloud stranded behind it. To the left of them rises Mt. Nibel, in all its impregnable glory, and on the right, a steep 200 ft drop to the forests below.

Two; On his own, Sephiroth could tear into the beast and kill it. But with six people, three of whom are civilians, it’s a little harder. The dragon’s every move endangers all of them.

“Get down!” Sephiroth screeches, and just in time Aerith falls to her knees. She’s terrified; it’s clear in her shaking eyes, locked knees and gritted teeth. But the girl is clenching her staff tight, and listening as best she can to whatever the General says. Vincent hovers near her, but his gaze rarely leaves Sephiroth.

Zack grits his teeth, moving to run past the dragon only for a back leg to reach out for him. Long claws come feet from tearing into his gut. “Don’t Zack!” Sephiroth shouts. “Act defensively! Hold your position!”

It clearly kills the man to agree but he nods, fists clenching. With his own sword in hand, he backs up, an arm out in front of Tifa, encouraging her to back away.

“Let Seph deal with it,” He tells them. “He’s killed dozens of these assholes before.”

“Yeah, but, -“ Tifa stammers, fists raised. “You sure?” Her gaze keeps flitting to Aerith, and so is Cloud’s – the blond is furious, heart racing, but he does as Sephiroth said.

The dragon is facing away from them, focused on who clearly represents the greater threat. Vincent and Sephiroth are taking the brunt of its anger. It’s something Sephiroth had experienced before, giving his own level of power and the aura he gave off, he often drew more dangerous beasts out of hiding. Vincent, unknowingly, had the same problem on an even higher level – housing so many powerful demons called to other such beasts in the wild.

And caught between the three is Aerith.

She stays back, hovering in Vincent’s shadow clinging to her staff. It’s shaking in her grip; the woman’s face is pale, bright eyes focused on the enraged, fanged countenance of the beast.

“Aerith!” Zack shouts at the top of his lungs. “Don’t worry babe, it’ll be okay!” He’s making plenty of noise – but Cloud can’t blame him. He’s trying to draw the dragon’s attention desperately but it simply does not care about them. But anytime they try to get around it, they end up getting pushed back, simply by the movements of the damn huge thing.

“Fuck, this sucks!” Tifa spits, glancing towards Cloud. “There has to be something we can do here.”

Cloud hesitates, then his gaze drifts upwards. “Yeah,” he starts. “Maybe.”

“What’re you thinking Spike?” Zack moves closer to him, eyes on the beast.

“Think you could give me a lift?”

Turning, the black haired SOLDIER eyes him up and down, gaze serious and thoughtful. Then he looks at the dragon again. “Yeah, I think I can do that.” He and Tifa share a look, then she moves out of the way.

Zack steps back, falls to one knee, and puts his hands on his thigh. Cloud backs further away, aiming for the man, in a runner’s pose. For a moment, he waits, hesitating, heart pounding wildly, sweaty hands clenching his blade. He revels in the feeling.

Then, he runs.

The man bolts at Zack, leaping onto his hands. Zack’s ready for him – he grips the man’s boot, then stands, pushing upward and flinging the blond towards the dragon. Cloud had almost worried about this plan, but the SOLDIER more than sends him far enough. He’s practically flying, and can’t help the whoop of joy and excitement that escapes him.

Before he comes down onto the creature’s back, Cloud flips his blade, aiming to pierce its hide from above. It’s not likely to be a horrible injury – dragon’s backs are well protected – but it will serve as a distraction.

The blade hits home, and the dragon reels. A wild screech escapes it, so loud and deafening the blond winces, but he holds to his blade. Even as it flings itself madly around, he holds on. The others rush away – Tifa and Zack already out of range, the others catching on and turning to run.

The blade slips. Cloud’s breath catches when he realizes, but it’s too late – its no longer deep enough to keep him still, and he’s flung free, flying through the air. He doesn’t hit the ground; a familiar sturdy grip catches him midair, and Cloud looks up, smiling weakly.

“Thanks,”

“Please refrain from leaping upon dragons in the future,” Vincent quips. “My heart can’t take it.”

“You don’t even have a pulse, Vince.”

“The point stands.”

They land; Cloud leaps from his hold, lifting his sword again and facing the dragon. It’s clearly pissed; but now, it only has eyes for the one that injured it. Sharp slitted eyes narrow in on Cloud, but the blonde is ready for it, and when the dragon charges, he fights back.

It’s weird, having a “Sword” fight with a dragon. He’s parrying and striking the creature’s teeth, as those giant jaws attempt to close down around him. Sometimes the beast reaches to swipe at him with his front legs, long claws curling into his flesh, but that weakens its balance, and so it avoids it. But there is one thing it doesn’t seem to be using.

“Hey,” Cloud manages to glance back for just a second; he sees Vincent moving Aerith out of range, thankfully. “Why the hell isn’t it breathing fire?”

“Who knows? I don’t think any of us are dragon experts!” Zack says from the back.

“Hey,” Tifa, beside him, kneels. “Help him out.”

The man eyes her warily. “You think you can lift me?”

She smirks. “You really think I can’t?”

A few moments later, Cloud is greeted with the sight of a SOLDIER barreling through the air towards him – which is a welcome sight given the circumstance. Zack doesn’t land as nicely as Cloud had; there’s some fumbling and cussing and a lot of snow flying around, but in no time he’s on his feet and striking the side of the dragon’s maw. It roars at him, before swiping at him with a clawed foot.

“Cloud!” The blond turns when he has the chance, to see Vincent approaching. “The lack of fire isn’t a good sign – it means it may have laid eggs. This dragon may have used up its flame keeping its eggs warm, preparing for hatching.”

“So?” Cloud shouts back between blows.

“Dragons don’t lay eggs alone!”

Just as that thought occurs to Cloud, another roar rocks the mountain.

“Great,” Zack mutters. “Daddy’s home.”

* * *

  
It is barely a thought – barely a consideration – before Vincent realizes it is what he has to do. He steels himself for it. Though it may hurt, though it may cause him agony beyond belief, the alternative is not permissible. That is what makes him do it, the few times he willingly has performed the change. Knowing that not doing so would be even more regrettable.

Vincent grits his teeth, clenches his fists – and lets Chaos reign.

The wings burst out of his shoulder blades, claws ripping out from beneath his cuticles. His body is destroyed and remade in a ruined, ugly visage. But it is electrified with power, energy flooding through him as he takes to the skies. Chaos roars, and the dragons suddenly take notice of the flare of energy, of the more powerful creature that has appeared.

He hears, distantly, the others speaking. Cloud’s voice cries for him, and Vincent knows he would disapprove. But this is the only way. Vincent cannot die after all. It will just be very, very painful.

So Vincent takes to the skies, and when he is sure the dragons have taken after him, he flies – and flies, and flies, and flies, flies them far away, where the young ones he has taken to cannot be hurt anymore.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another day, another chapter! Whew, this one was fun. You know this started as a one shot focused on Vincent and Cloud and it has just spiralled out of control. But I can't help but ask what would the lives of other characters be like in this AU? So, yeah, more of the team will be showing up eventually.
> 
> The GRITS thing is a Southern US joke. Grits is a type of food here, and its an acronym - "GIRL/GUY RAISED IN THE SOUTH". I just applied it to Zack and Cloud as the "Southern Continent", since the area they're supposed to be from is a lot like the Southern US, and especially the way I portray it.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Check out my tumblr if you want to see fan art of this story. My user name there is metal-x-chocobo-x.


	10. Crash Landing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly, this chapter is shorter than normal because I've been experiencing some nerve problems. My left hand is on the fritz which has made typing slow and painful. I have an ergonomic keyboard coming in the mail but until then I think I'll lay off the writing.

“VINCENT!”

He’s running; moving before he thinks, barreling for the edge of the cliff. It doesn’t matter – nothing matters but his friend who is now a blip on the horizon. The dragons have taken after him, and now he’s outnumbered, alone, getting further and further away –

An arm like steel wraps around him, a familiar voice barraging his ear, (“Whoa, Spike, calm down, listen –“) but he doesn’t listen. He doesn’t calm down because Vincent could die or, okay, he probably can’t die but he could be badly hurt and pain hurts him the same way it does everyone else.

Maybe worse.

Grimacing, Cloud struggles free of Zack’s grip and runs for the cliff. A flash of movement and a silver streak halts him, coming to stand in front of him. Cloud barely slides to a halt, fists clenched. In only an instant he moves to go around him.

“Are you just going to leave them behind?”

Cloud hesitates. In the corner of his eye, he glances back, stares at the friends behind him, at Aerith, at Tifa.

“I can’t just let him –“

“You will not catch up to him any faster by leaving us.” Sephiroth insists. The man turns, half lidded eyes alit with fire. He’s tense, almost shaking with pent up energy. “In fact, you will only ensure that others will be harmed, if you run off half-cocked.”

Gritting his teeth, Cloud spins on the man. Tears begin spilling from his eyes. “Shut up! This is all your fault anyway! You and your stupid company and stupid S – SOLDIER and – _gasp_ – you fucking – assholes –“ His knees give out from underneath him, his whole body shaking with the impact. Or maybe that’s the panic that has him shivering like a leaf. “W – why does he keep getting hurt? I – I just w – wanted to help him –“

A hand grips his shoulder, tight, and Sephiroth kneels in front of him.

“We will,” The man insists. His voice is firm and smooth and he commands the scene like he would any battlefield. “We will help Vincent. But to do so you must listen to me. Can you do that?”

Through gasping sobs, Cloud lifts blurry, tear laden eyes, and meets Sephiroth’s gaze. Slowly he nods. It’s another minute before he can look away and think about even trying to stand. His body’s not reacting well to his thoughts.

“Come on,” Zack’s suddenly beside him, and another hand touches Cloud. “Up you get,” The SOLDIER lifts him to his feet, all but entirely supporting his weight. Cloud slumps against him, breathing hard, vision blurring. “Slow it down. Count with me, okay?” He starts to slowly count, trying to get Cloud to match his breathing to it, and they begin to walk.

* * *

  
Even dragons are nothing to Chaos. But it has been a long time since Chaos truly fought. He is… rusty. And adjusting to a human body is difficult, after spending an eternity as an ephemeral spirit beyond the physical plane. Pain hurts more here. Everything is… more here. And Chaos wasn’t quite ready for it.

The dragons hurt them more than they’d planned for, but in the end, Vincent and Chaos manage to outfly them. Once they’re far enough from the mountain territory, the dragons consider the battle one, and return the way they came. Vincent only hopes they bought enough time with that little scheme for the others to have left the mountain far behind them.

It’s been… hours? Long, long hours since the transformation and Vincent is exhausted. Exhausted and bleeding and dizzy with the pain. He aims to land and the world blurs and SMACK – a sudden shock of agony hits him when he misjudges an angle and hits a tree branch. From there, it’s like the fall of dominoes – one hit after another after another, as Vincent tumbles from the sky, through the trees, to the earth far below.

Gods, it hurts. He aches in a way he hasn’t in a long time. Tears burn at his eyes and Chaos/Vincent keens. _Rest_ , Vincent murmurs to the deity, to the being so unused to physical suffering. Like a child, the demon whines, before slipping into sleep, and taking Vincent with him.

* * *

  
The Highwind Aerospace Association’s second work shift that morning all look up with bright eyes full of hope when Dr. Shera walks in.

The woman grimly shakes her head. Groans of agony and defeat roll through the room.

“Really? It’s 8 am.” One technician, seated at one of the many work stations in the circular white room, complains. “What could have possibly pissed him off?”

Shera smiles and shrugs, clearly amused on some level, then walks out of the way. As she disappears from the doorway, the doors slide open once again – and one irritated blonde storms in.

The room tenses, and all eyes spin right back to their workstations. Too late; their boss had clearly noticed. “The fuck’re you guys eyeballin’ me for?” The man spits, red faced. “Ya got time to goof off, ya got time to work harder!”

“Sir!”

He opens his mouth, clearly on the roll towards a tirade, when Shera approaches again. In her hands she has a cup of tea, fresh and warm, and the sight of it blows away the man’s irritation like food for a starving man.

“Shera, you’re a delight,” he sighs, taking it and downing almost half in one go. “Just what I needed.”

“Of course, Captain,” Shera smiles. “Anything for you.”

“Anything to keep you in a good mood more like,” One brave souls manages to mumble. The Captain’s ear twitches.

“The hell was that?”

The room answers as one.

“NOTHING, SIR!”

“Captain Cid!”

Just as he was about to go off, one of the technicians spins around, concern on his face. “Whaddya want?”

“Something’s come up on radar.” That’s all it takes to get the man’s attention; he strides over fast, without spilling a drop of tea. The technician turns and explains the data he’s collected.

“Three bogeys came within 30 miles of Town flying at over 25 mph. Way too big to be birds. Two of them were at least B class fiends.”

Eyes narrowed as he reads the data, Cid asks, “The third?”

“That’s the strange part. It’s… well, the data reads almost human.”

Cid blink. “The fuck’re you smoking?”

“That’s what I thought!” The man throws up his arms. “So I took an aerial shot of the region with one of our satellites, and look –“

He pulls up the shot, and Cid blinks. “I don’t see nothin’.”

Rolling his eyes, the tech zooms in. “Look,”

Grumbling, the blonde leans in, examining the image. He’s just about to complain again, when he finally notices the tiny black and red dot in front of the two huge beasts.

“… the fuck is that?”

“I don’t know, sir.” The man admits. “But it’s still in the area. The fiends turned and retreated about an hour ago, but this third one –“ He points to the screen, “Came to a halt in sector 19 and hasn’t moved since.”

For a moment, the Captain is silent. His subordinate fidgets in his seat, sweating up a storm, tense as all get out until his boss sits up and moves away. He storms towards the doorway, finishing his tea and setting the cup on the nearest flat surface.

“Shera, keep a PHS on ya today, I’m heading out.”

“Going exploring Captain?” She asks, adjusting her glasses with a smirk.

The man turns back and grins, winking. “Don’t blow up the place while I’m gone.”

* * *

  
Cid makes a quick detour for home, grabbing his jacket and spear, and then heads right out into the wilderness. It’s a huge sprawling forest around Rocket Town, but he knows it like the back of his hand. It won’t take long to find whatever the hell it was that landed in his neck of the woods.

So he sets out, hoofing it, since taking the Bronco would mean he’d just have to land outside the woods and backtrack, anyway. Besides, a little fresh air and time alone to think never hurt anyone. Cid walks along, and after a wall, fumbles in his pocket for his vaporizer, and sets it to his lips.

It’s around then that he catches sight of the first downed limb. Then another, and another – like the forest was under attack. Clearly, this was no calm landing. Eyes narrowed, Cid tucks the vaporizer away and trudges through the debris, looking for any sign of what might have caused it.

Then he sees it – black and red. The pilot comes to a standstill. Wide eyes stare, dumbstruck. Damn it all but the technician was right – this thing is human. Err, kinda human. Human… ish? It has a body like a man, save for the weird eyes and skin color and things on its head and…

Wings.

Cid’s hand trembles at the thought. He all but rushes out of the debris towards the man, falling to kneel beside him. This is a person with wings. With wings. His hands hover over the creature as he crunches the numbers in his head, examining wing span and estimating muscle mass.

The thing twitches and groans, and the movement draws his attention to the face. Long black hair, beneath… horns of some kind, frames a thin, angular face. The wings are spread out behind him, bent funny, and definitely injured if not broken. They’re red and almost flimsy, with holes through the thin fleshy material. Cid almost gives in and touches it, but something tells him not to be pushy.

There’s an aura around this… creature. Cid knows danger; he’s fought plenty in his lifetime, and before all the security and alert systems were put in, Rocket Town itself was pretty unsafe. This creature radiates danger. Yet, in spite of that, Cid examines the wings and finds himself thinking that it’s… it’s…

… Beautiful.

Another groan; this time, the creature moves, swinging one of the wings around and almost smacking Cid in the head.

“Hey careful with that thing!” It occurs to him that might have been dumb to do – drawing attention to himself – but Cid smacks his hand over his mouth a moment too soon. Flushing red, he backs up a little. Dumbass!

The creature blinks; sharp red eyes meet wide, terrified blues. Then, it all begins to shift. Grey melts away into flesh tone, though it is an unhealthy pale. The wings shift inward and vanish; Cid all but groans and half twitches to touch them mournfully as they fade away. The horns disappear, the weird clothes change, and in a moment he’s sitting beside a man in a black and red suit who is, undoubtedly, a man.

“Holy shit,” Cid breathes. “The fuck are you?”

Sitting up, the man frowns. “I am a monster.”

“No, fuck, I mean,” Cid, shaking his head, moves closer, calculating again. Where did all that extra mass go? Where was it kept? The man didn’t seem to have gained weight anywhere but he couldn’t possibly be that dense in mass… “You flew here, didn’t you? Holy shit. But how – that wingspan couldn’t possibly hold your weight – and the hell did the wings go? They just fucking vanished into your body but you can’t possibly weigh more than a wet green bean!” The man insists. “You’re lean as a bean pole and I don’t see a single wound on you from falling from the damn sky.”

The stranger blinks again. “… ah.” He says. “In that case –“

“And how the hell does the clothing thing work?” Cid grabs at the red cape, lifting it up for inspection. “You were definitely wearing something else – similar, but different – now it’s fucking gone. Like it just melted and somethin’ else reappeared.”

“If you would – “

“Not to mention your damn face!” Suddenly Cid leans forward, into the man’s personal space, and the stranger blinks and flushes with a stunned expression, leaning away. That doesn’t deter Cid – he just moves closer. “A grey skin tone – and now, so pale! Do you have any melanin at all? Those eyes, too – yellow one second now red! Neither are fuckin’ natural at all. Definitely not contacts, though.”

“Are you always this friendly?” The man frowns, and Cid realizes he’s practically in his lap.

“Shit – sorry!” He scrambles away, brushing himself off before standing. “Cid Highwind; Airship Pilot, Director of Highwind Aerospace, and Mayor of Rocket Town. Which you pretty much crash landed in.” He reaches out a hand to help the man stand, and gets a cold dead stare in response. “… fuck, said I was sorry. The hell died up your ass?”

The words widen the man’s eyes and he flushes, before leaping to his feet. “You are – quite strange.”

“Same to ya, shithead. You got a name?”

Red eyes blink, staring at him sharply. “… Vincent. Vincent Valentine.”

“Well,” Rolling his eyes at the deep, dramatic tone, Cid turns and starts walking away. “You’re welcome to tag along with me back to town, Mr. ‘Vincent, Vincent Valentine’.”

“It is just Vincent Valentine.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

* * *

  
When he was six years old, Cid climbed up onto the roof of his mother’s house, with cardboard wings strapped to his arms, and tried to fly. What he did was break his arm, and get grounded for a month. But that failure and the pain of it – physical and otherwise – only cemented the desire in his heart.

One day, he would reach that sky.

The world around him was so dull, so small. He’d sit in class bored to tears and just stare out the window, watching. Birds would fly, carefree as can be, unaware of how enviable they were to this little boy stuck in a small classroom in Junon.

Of course, that was before Shinra came in, when Junon was a peaceful little fishing village, and not a military mecha. Cid saw it as an improvement (which did little to endear the little hothead to anyone). But from his young, naïve point of view, it was a chance to get away from the hum drum boredom of the life he’d been born into, and reach the life he was meant for.

The airstrips were his second home. Most days, if the school called home to tell his mother he hadn’t shown up for class, Mrs. Highwind would find him pressed up against the fence around the air base. Threatening, punishing, grounding, none of it worked. He was obsessed.

At fifteen, somebody at Shinra finally noticed. It might’ve had something to do with a small explosion; maybe a little to do with the unauthorized manned flight that managed to take off from one of the piers, fly twenty three feet, and crash into the ocean. The officers patrolling the beach at the time reported hearing a massive boom, running to the scene to find a badly singed and bruised young man stumbling out of the ocean, laughing his ass off.

The next years of his life were dedicated to his dream. It was extraordinary. All the resources, all the greatest minds, all working alongside him. For the first time, he wasn’t been pulled from the window, from the sky, and told to get back down to earth. No; he was being handed a tool, an opportunity, and being told to fly.

Sheer determination, alongside his great brain power, put him on the fast track to leadership. No one worked as hard as him. No one saw solutions and came up with new ideas in the way he did. In record time, he was in charge of his own division. Everything was looking up.

Until it all came crashing down.

Cid might’ve given up that day; might’ve fallen so long and so far from that high peak of success, that he wouldn’t have had the strength to get back up again. To try and climb that mountain again, after having lost everything he’d accomplished, everything he’d done. If he’d been left to his own devices, that was likely what would have happened.

Only, lightning struck twice. Twice in his life, Cid Highwind had the luck of being around people who saw his potential, and gave him the chance to use it. And this woman didn’t take no for an answer.

Jean Strife was a pain in Cid’s ass from the moment they met. A pain that built him back up when he fell, propped him up on his feet, and showed him exactly what he had to do to get to climbing that mountain again. He’d forgotten for a moment how it felt to reach his goals, to come closer to the sky. It was like he was that kid again, stuck in the classroom, his dreams so far out of reach. Jean reminded him that he had flown already – that he could fly again.

They had a couple of really fun months together, after that. She his de facto assistant and body guard, as he went about recruiting scientists and locating mineral deposits for resources. Everything he needed to do to get his own company on its feet, she was there beside him, helping him do it.

In a sense, he loved her. He did; just maybe not in that great romantic sense the movies always talked about. And Cid knew she felt the same way, too – a bond that tied them in great admiration for one another. He’d never understand what she saw in him, but he knew what he saw in Jean; a powerhouse of a woman, a giant among ants. Someone who never seemed to feel fear the way others did, someone genuine, someone… kind.

But she was like the sky, like his love for that open blue expanse above them. He would always strive to reach it, always revere it for the fucking brilliant, amazing thing it was… but you can’t tie down the sky. To tear it down that way, you’d destroy it. And he wasn’t so selfish that he’d ruin all the very things he loved about the woman who changed his life forever.

 

  



	11. Missteps

The sun has long since set, but Cloud is still wide awake.

He’s been pacing the ground in front of the fire for hours, unable to sit still. The ground has been worn down from it. Zack tried to pop a joke about digging a trench around the camp, but if anything, the tension had gotten worse instead of lessening.

Most of the night Zack is distracted, anyway. His girlfriend has been in her tent, gasping, crying. If he hadn’t been so distracted himself, Cloud would’ve been much more concerned. At first, he’d thought it was just first time jitters… first time fighting a monster, first time seeing a dragon. But after a while, he doesn’t think so. He can hear them talking, hear words like “the lab” and “Hojo”. Somehow, he thinks this panic is about more than a little scare.

But he can’t focus on it. His mind is laser focused, centered upon one thing. Cloud wants to leave. He wants nothing more to turn and run out into that forest, searching desperately for the first sign of Vincent.

The only reason he hasn’t is sitting in front of the fire.

Sephiroth has been sitting still on the log for as long as the camp has been set up. Where Cloud hasn’t stopped moving, he hasn’t moved at all. It – frustrates Cloud. All he wants is to do something, and Sephiroth refuses to do anything at all.

_Don’t you care?_

Gritting his teeth, Cloud doesn’t say what’s on his mind. It’s not his place. This is all so much bigger than a handful of lives.

Or,… maybe that’s exactly what it’s about.

“I’m leaving.” Cloud says for the tenth time – only this time, he means it.

“You aren’t going anywhere.” Sephiroth murmurs, not an order, just a statement, like he knows. That pisses Cloud off more.

“Says you.” He spits. “I’m not Zack. I’m not one of your SOLDIERs.”

“No you aren’t.” The General admits. “But you are a compassionate person who will do what is best for everyone involved.”

“Is this what’s best?” Red faced, Cloud strides into Sephiroth’s space, standing right over him. He’s taller than the man, for a moment, and it’s surreal, almost a rush, looking down over him. Of course, it doesn’t take long for the man to stand, a slow, steady unrolling of his body upwards, up, up, up… No fair.

Sephiroth merely quirks an eyebrow once he’s stood.

“We should be looking for him.” Cloud insists fiercely. “He could be hurt, or – or worse.”

“It’s highly unlikely.” The taller man states, crossing his arms. “At your own description, you stated the man was nigh invincible.”

“Yeah, but –“ Scoffing, Cloud turns his head. “Just cause you can’t die doesn’t mean you can’t suffer.”

Silence fails, bitter and poignant. Sephiroth’s mouth moves like his teeth are stuck together, and he’s fighting to part them. “I know.”

“Do you?”

“What’s the racket?” The tent flap parts – Zack appears, looking somewhat haggard himself. Clearly he knows what’s happening already. He’s got superior hearing, just like they do. Once again he’s trying to lighten the mood and Cloud doesn’t appreciate it like he might usually.

“How long are we going to just wait?”

Zack’s face falls; he and his superior share a look. Suspicion rises. “… we are going to look for him, aren’t we?” Cloud turns from one, to the other. Neither are meeting his eyes.

“Cloud…” Sighing, Zack scratches the back of his head. “Your friend Vince is probably better off than any of us when it comes to survival. He’s strong – real strong – you know that. And he’s gonna head the same place we are – “

“You’re leaving him out there.” Realization hits him hard and he reels, stepping back. “You’re going to fucking leave him –“

“He will be alright.” Sephiroth steps in, turning to look at the blonde. “He is strong, he will heal and catch up to us. But every moment we waste looking for him is a moment Hojo can use to secure his bid for power.”

“Waste?” Cloud scoffs, throwing up his arms. He misses Zack’s wince behind Sephiroth. “Waste? Fuck you!”

“Cloud –“ Sighing, Zack runs a hand down his face. “A lot of people will be hurt if Hojo takes over. It’s the good of the many, you know?”

He’s quiet for a minute. The camp is tense and silent, with Aerith sitting stock still in her tent, clearly hearing every word; and Tifa, who’d walked off for firewood, standing just outside of it, watching. Cloud gives a stiff laugh.

“You know,” he starts softly. “I really thought you were different. Decent people. Unlike most of the shitheads in Shinra, people who – people that don’t see others as people. They see them as numbers. As statistics. As resources or impediments or – things.”

“Hojo, that’s what he does. Sees ‘em as things. That’s what he did when he killed your father and used him as a pin cushion, and stole you from your mother before doin’ hell knows what to her. He saw them as things to be used and discarded. And he didn’t get in trouble because all of Shinra is like that.” Swallowing dryly, Cloud steps away, frowning heavily. His eyes are burning, but dry, and he looks everywhere but Sephiroth’s face. “I thought you were different.”

Without another word, he turns and stalks off, storming into the forest. The sound of wood clattering to the ground follows. Before long Tifa is jogging to catch up.

“You don’t have to come.”

“You kiddin’?” Tifa scoffs. “You’re the only reason I came in the first place.”

That manages to bring a small smile to Cloud’s face. They head north, looking for Vincent, trying to manage small talk and banter. And the whole time, Tifa doesn’t once bring attention to the tears falling down Cloud’s face.

* * *

 

  
Two hours later, they are lost in the woods, and Cloud is practically steaming. And all his frustration and fear hits its peak moment and suddenly deflates, leaving the exhausted man to slump onto the nearest log in defeat.

“I overreacted didn’t I?”

“Yup,” Tifa clicks her tongue. “A bit.”

Sighing, Cloud drags a hand over his face. It doesn’t fall away, until Tifa pulls it down. “You’re worried about Vincent. I get it. Let’s just keep looking for him, and worry about talking to your boyfriend later.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” The blonde blushes bright and puffs up like a Chocobo with its feathers ruffled. “And I’m not worried. Not about him.”

“Right.” Sighing herself, the woman stalks forward. “Come on. This is northward. We’ve only got a few more miles until the northern end of the valley, Vincent has to be nearby.”

Was he, though? Or had he kept flying? Could he possibly have continued, past the continent, towards the ocean? Could he have fallen then, sunken down into the deep, further and further out of reach…

“Hey.” A hand on his arm drags him from his thoughts. “Come on. Time’s wasting.”

“Right,” He swallows, nods, and follows her. He can’t stop looking. Not until there’s nowhere left to look.

* * *

 

  
“I have no reason to be worried.”

“Uh huh.” Zack, hands behind his head, glances away, out the corner of his eyes as he smiles. “Not at all.”

“Not one bit.” Aerith tags on, hands behind her back, grinning and unabashed at her teasing.

“That’s why you’ve been tense and irritated since they left.”

“This is my typical demeanor.” Sephiroth insists, eyes narrowed. His only concern is finding the man in Rocket Town and stopping Hojo from gaining anymore power than he already has. The blonde swordsman was never his concern. He was a – curiosity, nothing more. An interesting anomaly. A… completely impossible human being. And now he was gone, quickly as he came, and that was simply that.

There was no reason to be upset by it.

“Pick up the pace. We should be in Rocket Town within the hour if we press ourselves.” Cloud was never part of his mission Sephiroth tells himself, ignoring Zack’s groaning behind him. Cloud is not his SOLDIER, as the man himself had said, and was not even part of Shinra. Just an ordinary civilian. A strange, Mako enhanced country boy who had gone out of his way to bring Sephiroth’s birth father to Midgar in the slim chances they might meet.

… it just didn’t make any sense.

What did the man stand to gain? What could he profit from? None of it fit. He had no interest in money or fame, needed no physical enhancements (as he seemed to already have them). Political power interested him not at all either. His only interests seemed to lay in his family, friends, and mechanical creations, as well as the trips he took out of town. More than likely, if he had not met Vincent, Cloud would have been happy never to leave the continent he was born on, let alone head to Midgar.

And yet, since he had done so, the man had put life and limb on the line for strangers. He had endeavored to be sure Vincent and Sephiroth met one another. He saved the life of a lab specimen, the one called Red XIII that most would have dismissed as a base animal. He’d accepted them into his home, offered to assist Sephiroth in researching his past, and then gone further to offer to help save Shinra from catastrophe. All without asking for anything in return.

_… you’re just like the rest of them._

It hurts. And he doesn’t understand why. For many years, Sephiroth did not really comprehend or understand how one could feel pain without a physical injury. Now, he knows, as least logically, that pains of the heart exist. He still doesn’t understand why he’s hurting now. He knows he made the right choice. Perhaps not the most kind, or decent, but the one that would undoubtedly save the most lives.

He knows he was acting justly. So why does he care if Cloud believes the same thing?

“Seph, I think we’re here.”

The man blinks; the forest is gone, and instead they stand upon the end of a dirt road. Some length ahead of them is a guard tower, from which two uniformed men are coming towards them.

“Pretty organized for a little country town on the east continent.” Zack mumbles curiously.

“State your – General Sephiroth!” His silver hair gives him away, as usual. The two break into salutes, which are trembling and not exactly done correctly. He doesn’t bother pointing it out.

“As you were.” He states simply. “I am here on official business searching for someone. Is there a leader in town I could speak to?”

They trip over themselves to accommodating him, stumbling into an explanation that their boss was away but would be back soon, and they could await his return in town.

* * *

 

  
Vincent has no idea what to think about the man who is Cloud Strife’s father.

For the first hour after their meeting, he’s convinced it’s a mistake. This can’t be the man. But after speaking to Cloud’s mother and learning the man’s real name, it has to be him – how many Cid Highwinds can there be? Yet, there are so many contradictions.

Cloud is the most demure and polite boy. Seeing him next to his mother, one might assume the shy and reserved personality had to have come from Dad. But the man is as much a firecracker as the woman. He’s brash, loud, cusses like a sailor, and there’s enough fumes coming from the vaporizer he’s constantly smoking to choke an elephant.

He’s blunt, too. No pussyfooting or tiptoeing around. Cloud will hem and haw over something for half an hour before you can pull it out of him; he’ll brood and dwell on things for days before speaking to anyone of them. But it’s clear that the moment a thought enters this man’s mind, it’s out of his mouth.

“You lost? Lose your way leavin’ the S&M bar, or what?” The man had asked, halfway into their trip to Rocket Town.

Vincent blinked. “What is that?”

“You know.” The man mimed the sound and movement of a whip. “Sadomasochism, that shit. Getting off on beating people up. With all your leather and belts and shit.”

Vincent all but sees red. “This suit was sealed onto my corpse with magic without my consent.”

“Damn.” Cid whistles, turning to puff on the vaporizer. But it’s a brief window of silence. “… your corpse?”

He’s as subtle and thoughtful as a boulder. Cloud is perceptive; he knows when to avoid subjects, and when to address them. Cid tramples over sensitive subjects while hardly noticing what he’s doing. He’s the proverbial bull in the china shop, and when he’s done tossing his horns around and breaking all the glass, he has the gall to ask why everyone’s blaming him for broken china.

“Hell, how was I supposed to know you’re the walking ad for PTSD?” The man shrugs. “Sorry. Damn. Just talkin’.”

And he would not. Stop. Talking. Cloud was so quiet, so purposeful, speaking when he had something to say. Or when he was excited about something, about his ideas, his creations.

In fact, all the qualities of Cloud, his demeanor, his personality, so much of it… Vincent halts, eyes widening in stunned silence. In many ways… it could be said that Cloud takes after him.

After Vincent.

But… they aren’t related, of course. Vincent’s only been part of his life for the last six years or so. Surely… he can’t have had much of an impact at all. It’s a silly thought. Vincent brushes it aside and ignores the inconvenient and surprising amount of disappointment that follows.

They eventually make it to Rocket Town, a strange conglomeration of modern technology and quaint small town life. Farm houses and dirt roads run between high end research labs and expensive equipment. The town is centered on the rocket pad, currently empty – apparently the most recent one had been shot off into space the month before.

“Had a couple of animals in it.” Cid explains as they approach the landing pad. “Fer research purposes. They’ll come back all safe and sound, don’t worry, we’ve heard enough about that shit.”

He takes Vincent on an impromptu tour, walking through the various buildings. For a moment, Vincent thinks to wonder if this is a bad idea. If being in sterile research environments won’t upset him, or force the recall of things best left alone. But only a few steps inside the man can already see he’ll be fine.

It’s a totally different atmosphere. Everything is so – warm. The offices are open and spacious, rather than pulled tight into cubicles. There are couches and recliners near desks, scientists walk around in jeans and tee shirts, many lacking even the stereotypical jacket. There’s… laughter. Everyone is so upbeat. A few of the folks Cid greets as they pass even cuss back at their ornery boss.

“I want those fuckin’ spreadsheets, asshole!”

“You’ll get ‘em when I’m fuckin’ finished!” The man replies, to which Vincent’s eyebrows shoot up. “Get off my ass!”

“I’ll get off your ass when I see it workin’!” Is Cid’s response, and yet there’s no real vitriol in the words. Vincent can see it.

These people like Cid Highwind.

And watching him, Vincent can see… he can see the resemblance. Perhaps not in the brass attitude or the crass demeanor, but there’s a glint in his eye… a spark that flares whenever the man speaks of his work. It takes Vincent back to the Strife household, to watching Cloud kneeling in the garage, covered in grease, working to fix a motorbike he still couldn’t get to work quite right.

“It went twelve feet this time.” The blond had insisted with a grin, ignoring the fact that the bike had sputtered, died, and the back of it had even exploded. “Twelve feet.”

“This one,” Cid says, pointing at some device his team has been working on – Vincent hasn’t really been paying attention – “This one went two and a half miles ‘fore it crash landed. Two and a half miles. Further than anything on the damn record.” He grins, beaming.

Vincent sees the resemblance.

* * *

 

  
God damn. But the man’s pricklier than a porcupine covered in gumballs.*

Here he was, helping out a random stranger, trying to make nice and have some small talk, and the guy acted like every question was a damn interrogation. The hell did Cid care what the man dressed like? More power to him. Didn’t have to bite his damn head off.

The man’s quiet as the grave – ironic – and cold to boot. Like a corpse almost. Rarely speaks, just stands there all quiet and dull looking, zombie like if not for those bright red fluorescent eyes. They’re damn creepy, but in the way that a good horror movie is creepy, like you want to see more even though it gives you the shivers.

Cid would love to pull this guy into a lab and run a few tests. He’s pretty sure he’d be gutted for even suggesting the idea. Vincent made it clear early on that he’s had a rough life and would rather no one touch him or talk to him or apparently be alive within his general vicinity. Cid’s trying his best, but the hell is he supposed to do? Walk around all quiet and creepy like the dead guy?

It’s not in him. He has to talk, he has to interact with other people. It’s how you know you’re alive. So he does his best to keep from pissing the guy off while walking around town, trying to figure out how to gently approach the topic of what the guy is doing here.

“So,” Taking a puff from the vaporizer, Cid asks, “What the hell’re you doin’ round here?” Not… exactly subtle. Fuck. Well, he tried.

“Actually,” The man’s eyes flicker, and he turns his head. “I was looking for you.”

That’s not ominous. Cid feels another creepy shiver. “… don’t drink my blood.” He says quickly, his free hand rising to his neck. “I’ll kick your ass, handsome dead guy or no.”

“I – what? No,” Amazingly, the dead guy can blush. “I’m not – ugh.” Sighing in disgust, he puts a hand to his temple. “I am here on official business, with some others who I was separated from in the forest. On behalf of –“ He hesitates, the word stuck in his throat like a bad taste. “Shinra.”

Cid’s stomach drops. “Oh hell no.”

Vincent manages his first smile. “My sentiments exactly.”

* * *

 

  
Sephiroth, Zack, and Aerith are led into a small room where the Captain sits, surprisingly, drinking tea with Vincent. Father and son stare in shock at one another, one approaching the table as the other stands.

“You arrived more quickly than I anticipated.” Sephiroth manages, still blinking heavily. He’d been sure Vincent would recover and follow after them, but had imagined days inbetween… how strong was this man?

“Where is Cloud?” Ruby eyes flare as the man looks over the group. “Cloud and Tifa, where are they?”

“They, uh,” Hemming and hawing, Zack scratches at his cheek. “They went looking for you.”

“Cloud didn’t want to wait.” Aerith steps in. “He’s in the forest, somewhere.”

A sudden growl interrupts, something feral and surreal, echoing in the large white chamber. “The hell?” The Captain reels, eyes darting around before landing on the brunette. “That was you?”

“I will return.” His voice, deepened by anger and perhaps even fear, rumbles deep. Cid manages a whistle at that, watching wide eyed as Vincent stalks from the room.

“Holy shit,” The man says, sounding impressed.

Sephiroth stares at the empty vacuum before him. Hands clenched at his side, he hesitates to speak, feeling as if he has somehow failed already. Cid stands before him, and has not even heard Shinra’s offer, yet he feels as if he failed…

This does not matter. Think of the mission.

Focusing, Sephiroth forces himself to lift his gaze – only to find the Captain’s chair is empty. Surprised, he spins round, to see the blonde following after Vincent.

“Hold onto yer britches,” The man says, hesitating in the doorway. “Like hell I’m missin’ this!” Then he’s gone, darting done the hall, and Sephiroth slumps in defeat.

“Hey…” Zack’s hand rests on his shoulder. “Don’t worry so much. Everything worked out! Vincent will find Cloud and Tifa, then we’ll convince Cid to come with us, and stop Hojo once and for all!”

“Perhaps.” Stepping away, Sephiroth approaches the nearest window. The last thing he wants is to be touched right now. He wants… he wants…

He wants to see that look in Vincent’s eye. That rage, that fury, that fear – that protective gaze, which once before he caught a glimpse of, in Midgar. Wants to see it flare in Vincent’s eyes for him. The desire to protect him. A foolish, childish notion… yet it overwhelms him. The man cared so much for Cloud, the boy with no father. Or perhaps… he did have one. And perhaps Vincent had a son, already.

And perhaps Sephiroth was not needed or wanted here, anymore.

 

* * *

 

Two hours. Two hours since they’d wandered off and apparently discovered every damn monster in the region.

“Duck!” Cloud yells, swiping his blade through the body of one, as Tifa leaps above it. “That wasn’t ducking!”

“Same principle, still works!” She grabs a tree branch, uses it to redirect her momentum, and aims a kick at another lizard looking creature nearby.

There are dozens of them. And they keep coming. No matter where they move, the beasts follow them, and despite being rather weak creatures they are beginning to wear the duo down.

“Come on!” Cloud waves her over towards an opening, and they both barrel for it. The boy’s mind is racing as they run.

He’d known, of course, that to some extent their journey was made easier by the larger group. And part of that was simply being with Vincent and Sephiroth – that both men put off some kind of aura, a feeling, of darkness and danger which put most monsters off. Vincent leaving had put a small dent in that aura, but Sephiroth still was obviously scary enough.

Without him? Cloud gawks at the crowds chasing after them. Sephiroth was that strong? They’d gone from barely being bothered to being at all-out war.

Was this what Sephiroth meant by protecting the group?

“Down!” A hand shoves his back and he falls with an oomph. Overhead something whizzes by, buzzing incessantly. Cloud’s stomach twists into knots.

“Why bugs?” He groans, rushing to his feet.

“You big baby,” Tifa smiles a little, but it’s weak. She’s tiring too.

A sudden shock hits him, curling his gut tighter as Cloud pales. He swings at the creature, hitting it but not quite as well as he could have. He’s shaken. He’s realizing – he’s made a mistake. Because if this is what it’s like with just the two of them, with no idea where they’re going, running on empty –

They could die.

Blue eyes flash to his friend, wide and horrified. Tifa could die.

Because of him.

Howling, Cloud leaps back into the fray – determined, distraught, furious at himself. This is what Sephiroth had meant. Isn’t it? But if Sephiroth had just come with him – if he hadn’t abandoned them – but it wasn’t his mission, was it? He had his own responsibilities, and Vincent wasn’t one of them. But could he really abandon his father? Did he… did he…

“Cloud!”

His mind is reeling and distracted – he spins, wide eyes catching sight of the monster facing him, the spell already cast which is spiraling towards him – and the shadow which descends from the sky, protective, overwhelming, between him and the threat.

A shadow that stands brilliant red.

“Vincent!”

 

* * *

 

It’s an hour before they return.

Sephiroth stands at the window the whole time. In a small courtyard, the original Highwind rocket stands outside, tilted, stretching towards a sky it will never reach. He’s asked the scientists – this one rocket won’t ever be flight worthy. Some damage inside destroyed invaluable equipment. The Captain insisted upon keeping it there, as a reminder, a warning of what could go wrong. Then they went on building other rockets.

A scientific failure, left to rot. Sephiroth feels a sharp painful kinship with it. There are days he feels like a failure… whatever Hojo says. A failure to be completely human. To pass as normal. To be…

The door to the office opens.

In walks the Captain, and following close behind is Zack, Aerith, Cloud, Tifa, and… no one else.

A strange stuttering takes his heart. Before he can stop himself, Sephiroth steps forward. “Where is – Mr. Valentine?”

His gaze shifts to Cloud. The blond is avoiding his gaze; there’s blood on him, and the signs of recently healed wounds are clear on him. It’s then that Sephiroth realizes there’s a strange red mark on him… another wound?

In another moment it becomes clear it’s not.

 

* * *

 

It’s been a long time since Cid’s been this damn entertained.

He’s barely stopped chuckling the whole walk back – but this? This shit takes the cake. Because currently two grown men are being given a severe talkin’ to like they’re still twelve year old brats, and the one doing the talkin’ is five inches tall.

“You should never have allowed him to leave by himself!” Vincent squeaks, storming across the tabletop like a tiny hurricane of red and black. “And you!” He spins on Cloud. “should not have left!”

A mini spell. Cid hides his chuckling behind one hand, curling into himself in amusement. A spell that couldn’t have been cast on anyone better.

“I was just – “ Cloud, attempting to explain, is interrupted when Vincent suddenly leaps into the air. The boy startles, shifting back, but Vincent grabs his collar and lifts himself up, a tiny furious fairy glowering at him.

“You weren’t thinking.” The tiny man’s face softens somewhat. “I am fine. It is not me you should be worrying about. You do not have experience fighting by yourself this far north, or taking care of so many people in a group. Sephiroth does. You should have heeded his advice.”

The small man flashes over to a broad silver pauldron, balancing on top, as Sephiroth blinks in surprise. “And you should have realized that, as an untrained civilian with an emotional attachment, Cloud would not be thinking clearly.”

It’s too much. Cid has to turn around, biting his lip to keep from laughing outright. What a trip! This whole day has been a damn roller coaster and Cid’s loving it. Whoever these people are, they’re fucking fun. Whatever their deal is, well… Cid figures he can lend them a hand.

Clearly, he thinks, risking one more glance to look back at the tiny furious man with the two embarrassed young men before bursting into more laughter, it’ll be worth it.

 

* * *

 

  
*The “gumballs” being referenced here are not the edible, chewable gum, but a kind of seed or acorn that’s really really spiky and round. It’s a regional thing so I didn’t know how many people would know about them, so figured I’d explain it.


	12. Machinations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's two chapters for the price of one. Figured y'all deserved it after a month hiatus. I might post some art later, we'll see.

“Momma,” Little twelve year old Cloud Strife sits beside his mother, reclining on the ground in a field of grass. It’s a rare warm time in Nibelheim, the moment’s rest before the plunge into winter. They’re outside the town, near the mountains, his mother’s sword at their side, covered in monster’s blood.

“Hmm?” His mother, arms behind her head, rests with her eyes closed. He sits as she does, hands on his stomach, eyes open wide.

“Where’d my name come from?”

Jean’s eyes open, she points skyward. “Where’d ya think?”

A childish frown comes over his face and he shoves her shoulder. “I know that,” He insists, huffing. “I mean why? It’s really weird.”

“You had an uncle named Cornflower. My parents were damned hippies.”

The boy’s face, still cute and pudgy with baby fat, takes on a determined frown which makes his mother smile fondly. She sits up.

“I named you for your dad.”

Blinking, Cloud sits up after her. “His name was Cloud?”

“Well, no,” She scratches her head, sighing. “I dunno. He loved the sky. I thought about naming you Skye, if you were a girl. A boy named Skye’s just asking for an ass whupping.”

“Like Cloud isn’t,” The boy huffs. Smiling, Jean wraps an arm around his neck and drags him in for a hug.

“Your father was a scientist, working in aerospace. Fancy name for a pilot. Flyin’ was his first love.”

“Were you his second?” Cloud asks, innocently, childishly, with all the wonder that comes from not really understanding what that kind of love means. She smiles, hugs him tighter.

“Clouds are part of the sky, part of what he loves so much. So that’s what you’re named for. Your father’s greatest passion, his greatest wish. What he wanted most in the world.” She pulls him into her lap, arms and legs wrapped around him, warm and comforting. He stares up at the sky, wondering, bright blue eyes the same color.

“I wanted you to have a part of your pa with you.” She says after a moment. “I know you never knew him, and he’s not really part of our lives… but he’s part of our history. So we should remember him.”

Cloud nods, eyes back on the sky.

 

* * *

 

It’s well after midnight when Cloud hears clanging and banging down the hall.

He’s been wandering for the better part of an hour. Restless, unable to sleep. He rarely sleeps well in new places; if its not his house or the outdoors, he gets antsy. Nervous. Not to mention, after the day he’s had, he’s far too keyed up to rest…

Sighing, Cloud runs a hand through his hair. He’d never meant to cause so much trouble. Never meant to risk his own life or Tifa’s, or cause Vincent to worry. He just… couldn’t imagine leaving Vincent on his own like that. Yes, he knew the man could take care of himself, he knew he’d be fine, but that didn’t mean he should be left behind. He saved their lives fighting those dragons for them, and they’d just… left him to rot.

He gets it. He sees the reasoning, the logic. And he sees that he acted like a rash idiot. Still,… he’s not sure he could have done anything else.

Besides… seeing Vincent shrunk was kinda worth it. The blonde snorts, tucking his hands in his pockets.

So he’s wandering, and he hears the noise, and to his surprise turns a corner and finds a light on at the end of the hall. Another room with the door partially open, light filtering out. BANG. A loud series of cusses follows after, and Cloud recognizes the voice.

Curious, he approaches the door. It leads to a large hangar, full of machinery of all kinds. Most of the lights are dim, save for one corner where a single man is laying prone beneath the machine. No one else is there, no one else is working.

“Damn… stupid piece of shit…” Cid Highwind grunts, a screw held between his teeth, both arms elbow deep in the equipment above him. He’s covered in sweat and oil. Something pings and drops, the tell-tale sound of metal bouncing off of concrete.

Cloud’s over at the man’s side before he’s thought it through. “Need a hand?”

THUD. “Fucking – the hell kid!?” The man slides out from beneath the machine, grimacing and rubbing his head. “Give a man some warning next time.”

“Sorry,” Cloud winces, sheepish.

“You even know anything ‘bout this shit?”

He kneels, taking hold of the wrench the man dropped. “Not a lot about planes, no,” He starts, “But I’m pretty sure all you’re doing is replacing that cracked manifold, and that I can help with.” He gestures at the piece Cid is fiddling with, a long metal layer beneath and inside the plane, along the engine.

Cid blinks. “Huh,” He reaches out for the wrench, Cloud hands it to him. “You a engineer?”

The younger flushes. “Uh, mechanic. Sort’ve. I build things.” It sounds stupid out loud, he realizes, flushing heavily. “I mean… I’m not… really.”

This man, Cid Highwind, this man’s a legend. Built Shinra’s Aerospace division from the ground up, and after it was defunded, he left and started his own company. Highwind Aerospace owns all the airships in the world, is the only distributor and manufacturer of flight vehicles for the general public, and has the monopoly not just on flight, but space as well. They’ve had three successful spaceflights already.

And next to him, Cloud is nothing. He’s never even been to school, besides Nibelheim Public, never studied engineering, never had the money. All he’s learned, he’s taught himself from decades old textbooks and the scraps he gets around town.

He’s… nothing.

“Whaddya build?”

“Huh?” The man turns, eyes still downcast.

“Fuckin’ deaf?” Cid chuckles, shaking his head. “What do you build? Pass that here.” He gestures to a smaller wrench.

Cloud passes it along. “Uh… whatever I guess. Um… weapons, bracers, machinery ,… uh, workin’ on a bike for a while…” It all sounds so juvenile, so stupid. This man built the first spacecraft to actually fly into space.

“Huh.” Cid keeps working for a minute, clearly paying more attention to his work. “Taught yerself?”

“Yeah,” Cloud shrugs, gently resting his back against the ship. “I read a lot. Um. Basically – I guess I just kept trying and failing.”

That brings a laugh from beneath the plane, and Cloud flushes scarlet, ashamed – until the man slides out and grins at him.

“Sorry, just,” He waves it off. “How I started out, too. Building shit and hopin’ it don’t blow up, fall apart, -“

“And it always ends up blowing up and falling apart with you on it?” A twitch of Cloud’s lips imitates a smile. It becomes one when Cid grins back at him.

“More times than I can count.” He says as he stands. “First ship I ever built, flew a few dozen feet before it both crashed and blew up.” Cloud can’t help but laugh, and he’s not sure why. He’s giddy, excited, happy. This man is a scientific legend and they’re chatting like they’re friends.

“A lot of my weapons did that whenever I tried fitting them with materia. My mom started making me carry a Water materia everywhere so I could put the fires out.” He chuckles, face warm as Cid bursts into laughter.

“Hell, kid.” The cheer dies down, and Cid crosses his arms. “Sounds like you got some talent.”

Cloud flushes deeper. “I – I just tinker.”

“Hmm.” He kneels, fiddling with something. “Ever think of doin’ something with it?”

Cloud blinks. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” Cid grunts. There’s a pause as some grime and oil spew out of some hole, and the man cusses and deals with it. Cloud sees now why he wears goggles. “What’re your plans?”

Cloud… doesn’t have plans. Well, he does. General plans: take care of his mom, help Vincent, finish his bike. He doesn’t have – life plans. And he certainly never aspired to anything greater than being the town weirdo after he stopped aiming for Shinra and SOLDIER.

“I – don’t.” He manages, glancing away. “Have plans, I mean.”

There’s more fiddling and noise behind him. After a minute, he hears the man stand again, moving into his line of sight, and Cloud forces himself to meet his gaze.

The man’s smiling warmly, kindly, if a bit gruff and dirty given the mess and his demeanor. “We’ll have to work somethin’ out,” He mumbles, looking Cloud over. “Take a look at that bike of yers, huh?”

Cloud flushes to his ears. “S – Sure, sounds great!” His enthusiasm is clear and it makes Cid chuckle, patting his shoulder hard enough the boy shakes.

* * *

  
Vincent can’t help but smile at the scene.

He’s in the rafters, high above the others. It’s been hours since they returned, and the Mini spell had long worn off. It had been a matter of simply using Materia to reverse the spell, but the man is rather certain that Highwind was slow to produce the needed Materia on purpose.

The man is a strange factor in all of this. So unlike what Vincent expected, and yet… the more he observes him, the more it makes sense. Pieces slot into place as if they’d always meant to be there. Cid Highwind is a curiosity, and so long into the night, Vincent remains in the hangar, watching him.

It’s not as if he can do much else. Vincent sleeps rarely, and never outside the safety of the Mansion (an ironic thought, Vincent thinks with a frown). He just – can’t. But his typical anxiety he’s found has dimmed somewhat, in this atmosphere. The hangar is familiar. Smells and sounds like the garage at the Strife’s house. And once Cloud arrives, his familiar presence is even more calming. Vincent feels better than he has in days.

He rests above them, listening to the two talk early into the morning. He wonders if Cloud suspects – if he knows. There’s no way Cid could know, not without knowing Cloud’s mother’s name. From there, it would be easy to see. He wonders how the man would react…

A bit of trepidation crawls up his throat.

“So, then the idiot,” The object of his thoughts is below, telling a story in between chuckles. He and Cloud are both sitting facing one another, red faced from laughter. “This idiot tries –“ Vincent understands nothing of what comes out of his mouth next, the technical jargon above him, but it has Cloud and Cid laughing uproariously.

They seem to be getting on well. It does nothing to ease Vincent’s jitters.

He remains, laying prone on the rafters, cape curled around him. He’s not really listening to their words or conversation, merely hearing their voices and allowing them to lull him into a sense of peace. It’s as close to sleep as he can get.

Then he hears his name.

“Vincent?” Cloud says, sounding curious. “He’s a family friend.”

“Come on kid, there’s gotta be more to the story than that,” Cid snorts. “Tall, dark, and grumpy said as much himself – somethin’ about corpses and magic spells and being a half dead demon?”

The younger blonde sighs after a moment. “Well… it’s not really for me to say.”

“Surely you can say something.”

“Why do you want to know so bad?”

“Are you kidding?” Cid laughs, and Vincent hears him stand and pace. “The man is – damn. I’ve never seen anything so incredible.” Vincent feels his stomach twisting into knots. The echoing void in his chest where his heart should be aches, as if it might be pounding if it still worked. “Have you seen his other form? He has wings! Wings! And the frickin’ weight transfer – the enormous strain of that change, how does he do it? He’s a miracle!”

“He’s suffered a lot.” Cloud says quietly. “Scientists spent a long time trying to make him into that ‘miracle’.”

“… I’m guessin’ he didn’t exactly sign up for it.”

“No.”

“Shinra?” Cloud doesn’t say anything, but Cid curses and sits back down. “Damn. Should’ve known. Fuckin’ bastards.”

“Please, don’t say all this stuff to him. I know you might be curious and I get it but –“

“No, fuck, count me out.” The elder waves him off. “I know when to pry. Damn shame. Man’s a brilliant creature. Whatever he is. But I ain’t gonna go poking at scars just to calm my curiosity.”

“… thank you.”

“But, naw, I wasn’t really asking for that either.” The man pulls out his vaporizer. “I wanted to know about him. The man, y’know? You known him how long?”

“About six years.”

“What’s he like?”

“Why’re you so curious?”

“I told ya already, damn!” Cid snorts. “He’s a miracle. Miracle of science, of life. Tell ya, I have no idea what he’s gone through but it was clearly the wringer, and he’s still here. Fuck Shinra. A man like that though, it’s – can ya blame me?” He shrugs. “I wanna know him. Know about him. He’s damn cute to boot.”

“I am going to pretend I heard none of that.” Cloud shakes his head covering his eyes. “Oh my god you have a thing for Vincent.”

“Hell yeah.” Cid chuckles, shoving him. “Grown men have needs, ya know?”

“God, gross!”

“Jeez, kid, come on, I’m not that old.” Vincent, having turned his head, sees Cloud eying him as if in doubt, and Cid shoves him again. The younger laughs.  
  
The tightness in Vincent’s chest starts to lighten.

* * *

  
“Well, are we all here?”

Sephiroth does not need to look around to know that all the necessary people are present. “Let us proceed.” He says, stepping forward. He stands at the head of a long conference table, around which his group is gathered, along with Captain Cid and a handful of the mans’ associates.

“Alright then,” The Captain, at the opposite side, crosses his arms and leans back. “The fuck is this about?”

“What our President means is,” The woman named Shera leans forward, sitting beside him. “We would like to know about this – offer from the Shinra Corperation.”

“It’s not exactly from Shinra,” Zack interjects, glancing at Sephiroth to see if it’s alright for him to speak. The silverette nods. “More like, people within Shinra.”

“Aye, lad!” A voice echoes out from the vent above them, a surreal and sudden sound. And that’s when the meeting gets weird.

A second later, everyone gathered reacts as one with shock and confusion. The vent falls, and from it comes a short black and white cat, standing on its hind legs.

“Hullo!” The thing waves, one hand on its hips. “Been a while eh Highwind?”

“Oh, god,” The Captain groans, head falling back. “Meeting over. Fuck this shithead.”

“Wait, wait!” The cat bolts across the table, stopped by no one because everyone is still staring, jaws dropped, at the talking cat from out of nowhere. “Cid, listen! It’s important!”

“What the hell is going on?” Cloud, half standing, speaks the words on everyone’s minds.

Cid eventually sighs. Gesturing to the cat, he says, “Meet Reeve Tuesti, Former Director of Robotics, current City Planner for Midgar.”

“Hullo!” The cat spins around, waving and bowing again.

“That’s… a person?” Zack stares, leaning forward, trying to look at it better.

“It’s cute,” Tifa mumbles, still standing further away, but clearly fighting the urge to walk up and pet it.

Aerith has no such compulsion. She reaches out, a hand hovering over its head, and the cat leans up into it with a very realistic purr. The girl grins as she pets it.

“Alright, enough,” Sephiroth sighs, waving his arms. “Reeve, what is this?”

“Sorry, sorry,” He steps towards the other. “I couldn’t come in person, obviously, but I wanted to be here. Things aren’t lookin’ good back home.” The cat slumps. “The company’s in chaos. The Turks are trying to hold it together, but Hojo keeps cutting Tseng’s knees out from under him. He’s pullin’ every bylaw and clause in the Company constitution tryin’ to make Tseng hand over the company, and there’s only so long we can delay.”

“Hojo?” Cid sits up, frowning. “The fuck happened to Rufus?”

The group quickly catches the man up, and the more they speak, the more he frowns. “Fuckin’ hell,” The man grunts. “I rarely met the guy when I was with Shinra, and I still hated him. Fuck him. Man needs a kick in the ass.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Reeve’s robot nods. “Whatever he’s after cannae be good!”

“We came to ask you to step into the running.” Sephiroth says, meeting Cid’s gaze. “You are the best opponent to stand against him.”

“Why the hell isn’t Reeve doing it?” Cid asks.

“My role in the company has shrunk to nuthin!” The cat sighs, head hanging low. “First I lost my division, then I lost my chair seat, now I’m practically Midgar’s honorary mayor, and nothing else!”

“They’ve been taking his power from him.” Sephiroth noticed long ago that Reeve Tuesti was not Shinra’s favorite scientist. Hojo gained more traction, as Reeve was pushed further and further out. “He is not in good enough standing to make a strong bid for the presidency.”

“And I am?” The man snorts.

“You’ve already been the President of a company.” To Sephiroth’s surprise, it’s Shera who speaks. “You worked for Shinra, and were the Department head of what was a large section of the Company, and it did well under your command. As a scientist, you can claim the same type of expertise as Hojo.”

“Fuck I can.” He snorts. “Hojo’s a biologist, I work with machines.”

“And you make sure those machines won’t kill people,” Shera insists. “Your knowledge of biological sciences is enough to be passable for the laypeople.”

“It’s the best plan we have.” Zack insists with a sigh. Sephiroth nods, affirming.

It’s true. Without Cid, they don’t have an alternative. Rufus isn’t safe, and whatever they think of the man, he can’t be President if he’s dead; and Reeve barely stands a chance – without outright waging war on the man, Hojo has Shinra in his hands.

It’s clear by the look on the mans’ face that Cid knows it.

“Fuuuuuck.”

“It’s a temporary assignment.” Sephiroth tells him. “Once we’ve ensured that the heir is safe and the insurgents are taken care of, Rufus will step in.”

“Uh huh.” The man sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “And I have a fuckin’ choice in this?”

“Yes.”

For the first time, Vincent speaks to the group. Almost as if he’s stepping from the shadows, appearing at Sephiroth’s shoulder. The silverette is brutally aware of the man’s presence, drawn like a magnet, and tries not to show it.

“We will not force you to do anything.” Vincent insists, eyes flaring. “You have my word.”

Cid eyes him, before nodding. Then gives a sigh.

“Alright,” The man stands. “Much as I hate to say it… looks like I’m headin’ back to Shinra.” The words put a grimace on his face. “Aw, fuck.”

“There’s somethin’ else.” The cat says again, spinning to address Sephiroth again. “We have a new mission for you.”

Sephiroth’s eyebrow quirks. “I don’t recall being under your command.”

“If ye wanna stop Hojo, you’ll take my advice!” The cat insists, hands on its hips. “We’ve tracked some of the insurgents who attacked in Midgar. They’re near Cosmo Canyon, and Shinra has military officers after them.”

“Then why’re you bothering us with it?” Zack asks, eyebrow quirked.

“Hojo’s pullin’ their strings!” The cat says. Hopping up and down energetically, he says, “They’ve got orders to kill on sight. And we’ve gotten some hints round town, too – it’s lookin’ like an inside job, it is.”

“The assassination?” Sephiroth shifts, stunned, mind racing. “Hmm…”

“Aye,” The cat says. “These folks might have information we need – especially if Hojo dinnae want anyone to know about it! We cannae let them be killed!”

After a moment, Sephiroth nods. “We’ll intercept before rerouting for Midgar.” He says, and the cat nods at that.

“Also…” It twiddles its thumbs. “If ye don’t mind… could ye give me a ride back home?” The cat chuckles nervously.

Sephiroth’s eyebrow twitches.

* * *

  
It’s as they’re packing to leave that Cid finds out.

It’s all an accident, really. A fluke. After everything had been hashed out, Cid had directed them all to board the Highwind, his state of the art airship. It had been nice to see some nice faces marvel at his baby, though they didn’t really have time for a tour.

Best of all had been Cloud’s face – the fellow greasemonkey appreciating her for all she was worth. “Captain, this is – amazing.” The awe and wonder in his voice hit Cid hard in the chest, a sudden feeling of fondness for the boy.

“Course she is,” He grins. “I made her. Best thing I ever made.”

They’re packing to leave, getting everything on board, when Cid stumbles upon the bag. A black backpack, on the floor of the hangar. “Hey,” he calls out. “The fuck this belong to?” Nobody answers; he figures it has to be one of the newcomers. The thought that maybe it belongs to Vincent peaks his interest, so he decides to take a quite peek. Just a peek.

He shifts through it, finding books and materia, journals and pens. It’s quickly clear this is not Vincent’s, unless he fiddles with machinery in his spare time too. No, this is Cloud’s, and Cid is – really impressed. The work and detail is so clear in even the most unfinished sketches. He flips through the notebook, admiring the kid’s thought process, seeing the potential there – sure it’s rough, and unlearned, but its’ brilliant stuff.

He goes to stuff it all back in and pack it onto the ship, when something catches his eye. A photograph in the bag. Pulling it out, he notices a younger Cloud, perhaps twelve, posing with an older woman who must be his mother. His mother…

Holy shit.

Cid’s knees go a little weak. It’s – holy shit. It’s Jean. A much older Jean but there’s nobody else it could be. She practically looks the same, but for a few extra wrinkles and scars here and there. She’s smiling, in her own way, reserved and serious, a protective hand on her son’s head. Her son.

Holy shit.

He stuffs everything into the bag, and storms onto the ship in a daze.

They’re waiting for him on deck. General Sephiroth, his team, and Cid’s lieutenant on board. Shera’s in town, taking over in his absence. Cid barely hears his 2nd in command’s words as he storms forward, shoving the bag at Cloud. As soon as the younger blonde takes the bag, Cid reaches up and snags some of the hair from his head.

“Ow – what the shit?” The man blinks, grabbing at his head. “What was that for?”

“For – science,” Cid manages, storming away. He approaches an aide and steps in close, quietly.

“I want a paternity test done immediately,” He says handing the sample over.

“Sir?” The man blinks.

“Test it against my blood. It’s on file,” He says, and the aide’s eyes go wide with realization.

“But…” Then, he blinks, glancing around. “I don’t know if we even have the proper equipment.”

“The ships full of fucking equipment, slap something together.” He insists, before forcing himself to walk to the helm. He shouts instructions and directions, feels the ship roar and shift beneath him, taking to the skies. Usually, he’d be enjoying himself.

Right now? He can barely think straight. They take to the skies and Cid sighs, turning around to rest against the controls. He feels eyes on him, and looks up. Ruby red meet sky blue, and he realizes.

Vincent knows.

* * *

  
Sephiroth notices something going on with the Captain on the bridge, but he can’t really pay attention to it. He’s distracted – has been for a while. It’s unprofessional and foolish but he can’t help it, he hasn’t been this foggy and off his game in a while.

He’s not sure why, either. Sure there are many possible reasons, but he isn’t thinking clearly enough to pinpoint it, unable to rationalize his thoughts and actions. Sighing, he leaves the bridge without a word, ignoring Zack’s concerned gaze.

This whole mission has been a disaster. He wants to regret it, but can’t quite make himself feel that way. It’s been – fascinating. It’s been… good.

He halts in the middle of the hallway, hands clasping for nothing, restless, on edge.

Vincent Valentine is his father. A man who may never acknowledge or want him. Hojo raised him – a monster who never cared for him, who saw him as a weapon, a thing. He has been raised as such – and is unsure he can be anything else.

Sephiroth knows how to kill, how to strategize, how to lead and destroy. He can’t… befriend others, he can’t relax around them, the way Zack always has. The one person he can count as a confidante spends most of the time trying to understand him, and Sephiroth constantly causes problems between them.

It would be easier without anyone.

Sephiroth’s limbs are trembling, though it’s so subtle few would notice. He lowers his head, eyes hidden behind his bangs. This is… awful. Feeling so torn. Wanting something while at the same time wanting to not want it. It would be easier not to want it. Yet it aches so badly, it hurts…

The hurting… can stop…

Will it ever end? This awful loneliness, this agonizing pain? This life of a pawn and a tool, Hojo’s tool, in which he is subject to the man’s every whim?

I can stop it… I can end the pain…

A trembling hand lifts to his head, which is suddenly pounding. Where did this headache come from? He’s sweating… he doesn’t ever sweat.

“Sephiroth?”

The man spins around, hand on his sword, to see the young girl in the pink dress holding her hands up in surrender. Aerith. Yes, Aerith. Something in him snarls, enraged, put off, but that’s… ridiculous. This is Aerith. The woman Zack loves so much, the light of his life. Sephiroth barely knows her, but he knows how much Zack loves her, and Zack…

Zack is the only person in Sephiroth’s life who actually does love him. He won’t risk the man’s happiness for anything.

“Aerith.” He manages, forcing his hand to move despite the bone deep agony. He wants to shove her away, to leave right now – where is this coming from? “I’m sorry, I – I’m not feeling well.”

“I thought as much.” She doesn’t look scared, but concerned. “Can I do anything for you?”

Blinking, he turns to look at her. “… no.” He sounds confused. Why would she care about him?

Her smile becomes softer, gentler. “It’s okay to ask for help, you know. Everybody gets hurt.”

For some strange reason, he finds himself talking. “… I don’t.” He tells her. “I am not meant to be weak.”

“Everyone gets weak.” Aerith insists, stepping closer. “You’re not a God, Sephiroth.”

His father – Hojo’s voice – rings in his ears, like white noise. “I was meant to be.”

“People can’t give birth to a God. That’s silly.” She shakes her head, as if it’s just a foolish notion rather than a maniacal plan one truly disturbed individual hatched so many years ago. He is the fruit of that awful labor. Sephiroth feels sick.

“Then what am I?”

He doesn’t really expect a response. He really doesn’t expect the hand on his arm. “You’re a person, Sephiroth,” the girl smiles at him. “I hope one day you’ll really understand that.” With one last soft look, she steps away. “Feel better.” Then she’s gone, walking off with a skip in her step and a tune on her lips.

Sephiroth feels – suddenly angry. Which is weird, since a moment ago Aerith’s words had made him feel… better. Yet, vulnerable. Fragile. Now he’s just furious, and he wants to hurt something, someone – to hurt instead of be hurt- to cause pain instead of feel it –

Where is this coming from?

_What is happening to me?_

 

 


	13. Presents

There are few places on board the Highwind where Vincent can find relative safety. Its too crowded, too tightly packed. It’s – awful. Everything roars and steams and shudders with the wind, voices echoing across metal ramparts, all around people and things and noise –

He’s shaky. Vincent clutches the cape tighter around himself and ducks into a corner, avoiding a few crewman coming down the hall. He doesn’t relax until they’re gone. Then he runs into the hall, moving quickly and silently, ducking into the first door he finds.

It’s… quiet. A miracle. A large open space, perhaps meant for gatherings and relaxation. No one’s here now. A deep sigh escapes him, shoulders lowering. It’s been… a long few days.

The trip to Cosmo Canyon from Rocket Town would take at least a week, they were told. That was three days ago. It’s been three days of hiding and hovering in the darkness, trying to keep an eye on Cloud. Now, he’s just trying to function properly. This is… awful. He almost misses being trapped in a dark room for thirty years.

Almost.

With a huff, the man slumps against the wall, a rare moment of peace. It’s been quite the ordeal. Hands shaking, Vincent lets his weight fall completely against the wall as he slides to the bottom.

He’s been… avoiding it. Now it’s hitting him all at once. Hojo, a shade from the past, slinking back into his life. That awful moment when the doors on the transportation carrying him to Shinra had opened and the man had been right there, right within reach, and completely safe, out of Vincent’s grasp. Wrath colors his eyes red just thinking about it.

And everything else… Sephiroth, Cloud, their friends, the danger. He wants to take these children and run far, far from Shinra, - and of course, for some, it’s too late. Black guilt chokes him, hovering over him like a storm cloud, as he thinks of Lucrecia’s son. Shivers wrack his body as he curls into himself.

The door opens.

For a moment he doesn’t react – footsteps approach, and he glances at familiar dirty brown boots.

“… Vincent?”

If it were anyone else, he would have hid immediately. Anyone else would never have known he was there. But it’s Cloud, who approaches slowly, and takes a seat near to Vincent on the ground.

His voice is soft, concerned. “You okay?”

The brunette can’t help but laugh. “Define okay.”

Cloud sputters a little. “Careful, my sense of humor is rubbing off on you.”

At that, the man finally lifts his head. Cloud sits beside him, knees drawn to his chest, a small smile on his face and concern written in his brow. Vincent doesn’t know what to say. He should be the one comforting and helping, Cloud’s so young and been through so much lately –

“I should ask that of you.”

Of course, the boy shrugs and waves him off. “I’m fine. Really.” His head falls back against the wall. “I just… missed you, I guess.” Vincent blinks. Cloud chuckles at his look. “We haven’t had a lot of time to ourselves, lately.”

Now that he thinks of it, it’s true. For years, Vincent and Cloud had hours of time to themselves, on their own in the mansion. But since Midgar, they’ve been separated, and stuck with larger crowds, constantly on the move from one thing to the next. He’d barely noticed. So preoccupied with…

Laughter. The flash of light on spectacles. That awful sanitized smell. Her son, so distant, so pained, so clearly broken. His fault.

“… I’m sorry.” In being bogged down and bothered by sins of the past, he’s caused another sin. “I did not mean to withdraw.”

“No, I’m not blaming you,” Cloud shakes his head. “Stuff just happens. I just wanted to hang while we had the chance if that’s – okay?”

Vincent doesn’t have to say a word. He meets Cloud’s eyes – of course it’s okay. The young man smiles in return and Vincent feels the clouds over his heart disappating somewhat. The pain and guilt is still there, but pushed back, to be dealt with another time.

“Vincent…” The blonde starts slowly. The brunette sits up a little. “What happened… at the reactor?” Cloud is looking at him, blue eyes dim and tired, rather than brilliantly glowing like usual. “What was there?”

He hesitates. “A monster.” Turning away, his eyes narrow. “Monstrosities, more of Hojo’s doing.”

“Did it have to do with Sephiroth?”

Vincent nods, slowly.

“Could it…” Sighing, Cloud scratches his head. “Hurt him?”

Quirking a brow, Vincent turns his gaze back. “Did something happen?”

“No, I just – was wondering,” Like he can’t see through the nerves on the boy. He’s watched Cloud grow up, from a shy awkward teen to a brave headstrong young man, who still doesn’t know how to lie. At least, not well enough to fool a Turk. “What was there?”

He scowls. “Let the past lie.” It’s too close to the surface, to everything that hurts now, for him to dwell upon.

The doors to the room slide open again – Vincent freezes. Leaps to his feet fast enough that most would never see him. But before he can vanish into the rafters, Cloud moves, and just when Vincent is about to take flight, he feels his cloak tug hard on his neck.

“Hnnk,” He grunts, surprised and grimacing as he grabs for his collar. He spins – Cloud’s boot is on his cloak. The boy is smiling innocently, as if he has no idea what he’s done, and it’s too late now – Sephiroth is in the room.

Tensing, Vincent freezes again, no longer able to escape and completely unsure of what to do. This man… this poor child wants too much from him, wants what Vincent cannot give (What he fears to give), and it hurts to see the pain and disappointment on his face.

“Cloud. Mr. Valentine.” Sephiroth is poised, demure, perhaps not even noticing Vincent’s partial escape and Cloud’s interference. Or, ignoring it. Nothing shows on his face. Now, this is one who knows how to lie.

“Hi.” Cloud smiles.

“… hello.” Vincent hides as best he can behind collar and hair.

Sephiroth glances from one to the other, perhaps noticing finally the strange tense air. He fidgets. Then, glancing at Vincent, clears his throat. Shifts from one foot to another. He’s… nervous.

“I realized that while Cloud has informed me of your skill and abilities, I have not truly seen them for myself.” He begins. “I… hoped that perhaps we could spar.”

Vincent blinks. For a minute, he stands in stunned shock. He’d expected a lot of things from Sephiroth, a lot of questions and demands, but not… this.

“Sounds great,” Cloud grins. “Vincent could stand to left off some steam, I think.”

The boy is right, as loathe as Vincent is to admit it. He scowls in such a way at Cloud that the boy knows he’s been forgiven, and in reply the blonde smiles sheepishly. His heart, what’s left of it, is warm and soft and all too fond of this boy. He cannot deny him.

For that matter, Vincent thinks, looking to the silverette, he does not think he could deny this one either. Not of much.

“Very well,” He manages. “Let us spar.”

Cloud about beams in glee, chuckling and rubbing his palms together.

* * *

  
“We’re here!”

Tifa sits up, surprised. “Really?”

“Well,” The Captain shrugs. “Not Cosmo Canyon but the other one. Nibelheim. Your boy asked me to stop here first.” He turns, and she sees he’s chewing on a stick in his mouth. “You stayin’ here?”

Frowning, the girl is slow to shrug. “I dunno.” She’d tagged along on a whim, eager for action, happy to help her friend. But this is all getting a little too big. Out of her league. What has Cloud gotten himself into?

… but can she really just walk away and let him deal with it?

“We’ll see,” She says finally, moving towards the nearest window. At least, for now, she can enjoy the view. And she does, until voices carrying down the hall peak her interest.

“Zack, you need not do this,”

“Come on!” Said brunette enters first, grinning with his arms thrown wide. “Does it really take both of Shinra’s best to take down a handful of runaway rebels? Come on, Seph,” The man winks, hand on his hip. “You know I’ve got this.”

The other seems to be inclined to agree but reluctant to show it. “I – suppose it is a bit overkill.”

“You still haven’t found your answers.” Zack points at him. “We’re right here. It would be a wasted opportunity. Let Cid drop you off, we’ll head off the insurgents at Cosmo. We have to come back by here anyway!”

“Well, we don’t have to,” One of Cid’s nearby airmen comments offhand. “It is one route to Midgar, but it’s not actually the most direct or fuel efficient –“

The man is interrupted when Cid removes the stick from his mouth and flicks it at him. “Ow!”

“Shaddup.”

“Come on,” Zack insists tiredly. “When’s the last time you did something for yourself? Shinra’s controlled your whole life up till now. It doesn’t have to be that way forever.”

That seems to do it. The mans’ eyes darken, and narrow thoughtfully. Finally he sighs, and gives a nod, to which Zack cheers.

“You win,” he smiles lightly at his friend. “You may continue on with the Highwind. I will … stay, and investigate Nibelheim.” The other man, still grinning, wraps an arm around Sephiroth’s shoulder, pulling him into a friendly embrace. Tifa watches, suddenly nervous, and unsure of the reason why.

She just… has a bad feeling. And very suddenly wishes that the man standing in front of her, shyly smiling and putting up with his best friend’s antics, was going anywhere but her hometown.

* * *

  
The group diverges; the ship flies off into the horizon, vanishing from sight, leaving behind Cloud, Tifa, and Sephiroth.

“You did not have to join me.”

Cloud shrugs, turning to him. “Sure I did.” He smiles. “Be rude to leave you stranded after I started this mess.”

“Besides,” Tifa interjects. “Given the time… we should be home.” She levels Cloud with a pointed look.

He blinks. “Uhh…” She raises an eyebrow. “Oh!” Startled, the man blinks, before nodding in agreement. “Right.”

“Is there something I should know?”

They both turn to Sephiroth. “Sorry,” Cloud chuckles. “It’s a local thing. We have a memorial every year around this time. My mom will want me around.”

“And my Dad will definitely want me around,” Tifa sighs heavily. “Maybe I should’ve stayed on the plane.”

“Nobody would’ve blamed you.”

They get walking, moving towards Cloud’s house, with the blonde in the lead.

“Do you not get along with your family, Tifa?”

The woman looks up, surprised to see the silver haired man’s eyes on her. “Uh…” She shrugs. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love him. But my dad can be – controlling. Especially since my mom died.”

Sephiroth nods, as if he’s understood. Cloud’s heart aches knowing that it’s probably just a façade – he doesn’t understand any of this. Poor guy.

They come to the Strife house, the door opens, and Mrs. Strife stands, cane in hand, holding the door.

“Didn’t expect you back so soon,” She steps aside. Glancing past them as they walk in, the woman’s gaze narrowed. “We missin’ some folks?”

“We split up for a while, they’ll be back.”

She hums. “You… meet that fella I told you about?”

“Hmm? Cloud, in the middle of slipping off his coat, takes a moment to remember. “Right, the pilot. Yeah, we found him. He’s gonna head to Midgar with us once a few other things are done.

“I see.”

Cloud strips the jacket off, brushing snow off himself where it slipped through. It’s damn cold. He thinks about drawing a bath, though he’ll offer it to Sephiroth first of course, it’s only polite –

He realizes suddenly that he’s cold because the front door is still open. His mother stands there, leaning on the edge of the door, gaze downturned, lost in thought.

Cloud steps forward. “Ma? You okay?”

She shakes it off. “Fine,” She says with a tight smile, shutting the door. “I’m just fine.”

* * *

  
That night finds Cloud and Sephiroth alone, in his bedroom.

It is the stuff his childhood fantasies are made of. Of course, in the fantasies, they weren’t sitting crouched on the floor in his crummy old beanbag chairs, pouring over complicated documents and secret company paperwork.

“Are you getting anything out of this?” Cloud asks with a sigh. “Cause I think I just read the same paragraph over and over and I don’t remember if it was made up of words or just gibberish.”

For a moment, the other doesn’t respond. He’s tense, head bowed, reading diligently and seeming to have few of the problems Cloud is. He looks ridiculous with his large frame and legs twisted into shape in the room, trying to fit in Cloud’s chair, and between the floor and the short table. Every time the man moves his knee bumps the wood and jostles their work.

“Reunion.” Sephiroth says finally. There’s a thoughtful crease in his forehead. “Does that mean anything to you?”

“Hours of annoying small talk with distant relatives.” Sephiroth blinks at that, and eventually, Cloud gives in and shrugs. “No idea.”

“It is mentioned throughout these papers. But they are incomplete. Rather like notes written in a hurry during work, rather than full reports.”

“So, reports are missing.” Cloud thinks suddenly of the library in the Mansion basement – the one that Vincent burnt to the ground. He mentions this to Sephiroth.

The man’s face flares scarlet. “Why would he do such a thing?”

“He said…” Cloud, a bit flustered, tries to remember. “He said Hojo was lying. Manipulating the work or something. He was afraid you’d find it and believe what he was saying.”

That mollifies him somewhat; but the man still looks confused, almost distraught. “Why could he not tell me this himself?”

“He’s not good at talking about anything, let alone the past, Hojo, you, -“

Sephiroth sighs. “Perhaps more worrisome… what lies was Hojo attempting to get me to believe?”

Cloud tenses at the thought. “I don’t know. Maybe… your parenthood?” Sephiroth’s sharp eyes meet his. “I always thought it was weird that you had no official birth certificate, that Hojo didn’t parade the fact that you were his kid to the world. Wouldn’t he show off? But he doesn’t. Maybe those “lies” in the reports were attempts to convince you that he is your dad.”

“If that’s the case…” The man frowns. “Then why not attempt to convince me from a young age? He has always denied it. Why change now?”

Hmm. Frowning, Cloud’s shoulders droop. “I’m outta ideas.”

Sephiroth sighs, tossing the paper aside. “Stabs in the dark are all we have.” Leaning back, he sinks into the beanbag chair, silver hair splayed across it entirely. He barely fits, long limbs poking out everywhere, and its an endearing sight that Cloud can barely keep a straight face about. “Vincent has all the cards and won’t show his hand.”

Eventually, Cloud manages to find his voice, without laughing. “He’ll show it. We just have to convince him.” He leans forward. “You know it took me years to learn anything about him? He’s a closed off person. It’ll take time, but he’ll tell you the truth.”

Sighing, Sephiroth lifts a hand and rubs the bridge of his nose. “I’m not sure I have time.” He leans forward again. “What do you know about the reactor?”

“Nibelheim’s reactor?” Cloud shrugs, leaning back and stretching his arms overhead. “It’s nothing special.”

“Is there nothing to make it stand out among the others?”

Cloud sees what he’s trying to get at – trying to understand why the reactor had caused such a strong reaction in him, why he’d been driven to bloodlust and forcibly entered the building. Wracking his brain, Cloud stares into the ceiling, thinking… thinking…

Snapping back up, the man slaps his hands on his knees. “The memorial.” Sephiroth blinks at him. “It’s the only thing I can think of. The Reactor’s a standard Shinra build, we barely even use it – out here, its too unreliable, we stick with fire and windmills, waterwheels, that kind of thing. Rustic.”

“Quaint.” Sephiroth teases. Cloud takes a moment to feel the swell in his heart that Sephiroth feels comfortable teasing with him, before gently kicking the table at him.

“Five years ago, there was this weird accident.”

Sephiroth’s gaze narrows. “Define weird.”

“You saw how unmanned it was when we were there.” Cloud says. “It wasn’t always like that. Even though we didn’t use it, it was an important investment, and the Mayor wanted it in top shape. There were about… forty, fifty people manning it? Then one day they all just disappeared. Vanished. Shinra came out and investigated, and a bunch of scientists types stayed for a few months, but nothing came of it. They’re all presumed dead.”

“Do you know who from Shinra was here?”

Cloud shrugs. “I have no clue. I wouldn’t have recognized Hojo back then.” He hadn’t even met Vincent at the time.

With a tight frown, Sephiroth glares a hole into the tabletop. Then, quite suddenly, he stands.

“I need a moment to myself.” He says, without meeting Cloud’s eyes. Then he storms from the room, making barely a sound.

* * *

  
Shinra Mansion is painfully quiet.

Sephiroth is constantly aware of noise. Everything sound, every pin drop, sparks on his radar and grabs his attention. He can hear everything so strongly, so attuned with the world and his senses, that it’s overwhelming. Suffocating. Even in his own apartment he can hear the people two floors up arguing and the guy three floors down and to the right snoring in bed.

But the mansion, a few miles from town, and completely abandoned, is… silent.

Sure, there was some noise. Rats scurrying and in a hurry. The monsters all but vanished at his presence. If they’re still around they’re hiding – smart choice. It’s dank and dark and smells of mold and moist wood, creaks with every step he takes.

Yet, it’s peaceful. In a way that most places in the world just aren’t for Sephiroth.

Of course that’s probably just the “abandoned” aspect, and also the fact that they’re in the country, anyway. Sephiroth rarely leaves the city. Maybe that’s something he should change.

Shaking his head, he moves on from his distracted thoughts, and heads for the basement.

They’d combed it once already. Then, after that unfortunate incident, Sephiroth had gone back once more. There were a few documents he took, but that was mostly it. Seeing the lab, the coffin, the rooms for himself… well, Cloud had told him. It was simply physical proof of the fact.

Sighing, Sephiroth slows to a halt, running a hand over his brow. What is he trying to accomplish?

He wants to know the truth. Wants to know what Hojo’s goals are, what his aims are in reference to Sephiroth. More than that, he wants… wants to know who he is. Where he came from. And this place just crushes him, thinking that this was his home, the birthplace of his soul, where his mother and father met and fell in love, and were torn apart.

His fists clench at his sides. Sephiroth sighs and moves on.

He wanders, for want of anything to do. Cloud and Tifa are at the memorial with Cloud’s mother, and the rest of the town. He has no place there. He’d offered, thinking it would be rude for a Shinra official in the area not to attend such a gathering, but Cloud had fervently informed him that the town would prefer otherwise.

“Oh, they’ll say to your face that it was mighty polite of you,” Cloud snorts. “But they hate outsiders. They’d rather you dropped dead.”

So, he stayed away.

He thinks of the missions coming towards them, of the work to be done. Of what awaits in Midgar. Of… Vincent. Their spar the other day was informative, fascinating to say the least, but Sephiroth cannot claim its brought them any closer. He’d thought perhaps the man would relax, let down his barriers, and in doing so warm up more to Sephiroth’s presence.

For a time it had worked. But once the fight drew to a close, the smirk and the cheerful gleam in Vincent’s eyes vanished. He did too soon after.

Slowly, Sephiroth slumps into a dust laden chair in the laboratory. Loathe as he is to linger… he has nowhere else to be. Staring, he examines the equipment, the machinery, the table with leather straps. Vincent… was probably kept here. His heart pounds and burns like fire.

Whether or not Vincent actually wants him, or cares for him, Sephiroth cannot stop the yearning in his heart for the man. This last connection to his past, his family, his own identity. Free of Shinra and Hojo and their demands. Vincent, like Sephiroth, was ensared by them once – but broke free. Now he’s on his own, fighting them, freeing himself from them.

Sephiroth would like to think he’s doing the same, but Vincent acted on his own. Spoke up when he believed it was right, stood against Shinra’s policies, even back then. And now, he’s fighting them tooth and nail despite the dangerous risk to himself. Sephiroth couldn’t have done that. If he’d never known the man… if Cloud had never come into his life and all these events start to unfold, Sephiroth would have continued on, the loyal SOLDIER.

He’s not brave enough to break free.

Hanging his head, Sephiroth runs a hand through his hair, tucking it behind his ear. The smell of blood and rust is getting to him. Time, perhaps, to head back, or at least wander around elsewhere in the building. This place… shouldn’t be, anymore. Sephiroth stands, and begins to move, -

SHISH.

Blinking, Sephiroth glances down. He’d kicked something. Confused, he kneels, examining the trail on the floor where the dust was cleared. Some box on the floor, halfway hidden by equipment of some sort. He leans further, digging his arm under to remove it.

It is a box. A large one, but flat, perhaps a foot long and a foot wide, and a few inches tall. Turning it this way and that the man stares, confused. It’s completely out of place. He frowns and starts rubbing at it, trying to clean the grime and dirt off.

… ducks? His gaze narrows. Yes, they’re bathroom accessories. “Rubber ducks”. He’s heard Zack mention them before. But what in the world…?

He takes a seat where he is, cleaning off the box, until he can see it is covered in light blue paper with little yellow ducks. He flips it around again, stunned. How the hell did this end up in Hojo’s lab?

Wait… there’s something on the front. Gently the man pries off ancient tape and removes a small greeting card, no larger than three inches. The tiny envelope is almost grey from age, but Sephiroth can still read the name on the front, eyes going wide.

To: Sephiroth. From: Uncle Vincent.

Uncle. Uncle? But his brain stalls further when it occurs to him finally what this is – a present. To him. Who its from and why barely matters, because this is a present to him.

Sephiroth can count on one hand the number of times in his life he’s received presents. Half of them came from Zack.

The man sets the thing down for a moment, as if needed space away from it. He’s breathing hard, chest aching, hands practically trembling as he sets it back down. Dust poofs out from beneath, dirtying the air. His vision wavers with tears.

… Vincent bought him a gift?

The thing is ancient. This has to be from before he was born, before Vincent was captured, back when he was a Turk and Sephiroth’s mother a scientist. The man bought him a present… before he even existed.

Hojo never gave him anything.

Large, trembling hands take gentle hold of the box. He lifts it. Examines it again. Trying to imagine what a grown man thirty years ago might have bought an unborn child. Then, furtively, nervously, one large finger tears a tiny rip in the side. A little more, a little more. Almost loathe to remove the cover, he only rips one end, delicately sliding the box out the hole in the side.

It’s… big. A big box, taped shut. He tears the tape off, sets the box on the ground, and slides the lid off the top.

On the top layer is a card, resting on sheets of paper. Addressed to his mother. Sephiroth hesitates, unsure of whether or not to open it, and eventually settles for tucking it into his jacket. Then, he moves the paper. What he sees he barely recognizes. Things from commercials and other people’s lives. A baby rattle. A miniscule set of children’s clothes, a little sailor suit he can’t imagine any incarnation of himself wearing. A round circle with moons and spaceships hanging from it – a mobile. And lastly, a small box, like a jewelry box, old and antique even before Vincent wrapped it. Sephiroth’s shaky hands cradle it, this small thing, examining the ornate siding, the finely painted image of chocobos and grass and flowers on the front. Then, he opens it.

There’s a click, and the sound of a little wheel turning, as music begins to play. A little chime melody. Something soft and sweet.

There’s no benefit to these items. They are not useful. There is no intellectual value, no power to be attained, no advantage to have. They’re… toys.

Sephiroth was never allowed to have toys.

He’s crying. The man realizes with a jolt that he’s crying. Enormous frame huddling over the tiny thing, shoulders shaking. No one had given him toys. The scientists and aides that had so much as treated him like a human being, smiling and talking to him, had vanished. His room growing up had been a small prison with a bed and a bathroom with one wall completely see through so he could be observed at all times. No toys – studies, weapons, skills testing, endurance training, but no toys.

Vincent … bought him toys.

* * *

  
When Cloud was 12, he scraped his knee pretty bad in a brawl in the town square.

It was one of the usual; completely outnumbered, unable to keep his mouth shut, ending with him on the floor throwing his arms over his head to protect himself. He’d tried running away, and hence the scraped knee.

The pain and thunder drumming in his ears kept him from hearing it, but that day, Cloud had a savoir.

“Git, you!” An older man, stumbling towards them, using a cane much like Cloud’s mother would one day. “Go on now! Git!”

The boys got, and eventually Cloud was left curled up on the ground, hissing and clutching his leg.

“Lemme see, kiddo.” The man, despite the obvious pain the movement caused, knelt down to Cloud’s level. Shaky hands with prominent veins gently examined his knee, told him he’d be alright but should get patched up. Cloud had nodded and thanked him profusely as he stood, only for the man to slowly stand and beckon Cloud to his house.

“Come on,” He wouldn’t take no for an answer, walking ahead to his front porch. Cloud just stood there, watching. After a minute, the man turned. “You nervous? Alright. You wait here.”

He left; and Cloud, so used to following adult’s orders, stayed. A few minutes later, the man returned, and knelt again in the snow and dirt, and bandaged Cloud’s knee for him. They’d never met before. Cloud didn’t even know his name until later, when his mother informed him that it was Mr. Ralph Deforest who’d helped him.

Ralph Deforest was an elderly communications expert, who worked in the Reactor. He’d technically been retired, but given the size of the town and lack of skilled workers, had taken to looking over the Reactor every so often. And his was one of the names on the memorial in the center of town.

Cloud could read it, even from where he stood so far away. Ralph Deforest. The old man kind enough to take pity on a scrawny boy and patch him up in the middle of a cold Nibelheim street.

“Where’s Sephiroth?”

Cloud leans in to whisper into Tifa’s ear. “The mansion. Wanted to poke around.” She nods, hesitantly.

“Sure that was a good idea?”

He blinks, surprised at her comment. “Whaddya mean?”

“I dunno,” Shrugging, the girl blushes. “He just… makes me nervous for some reason. Something’s – off. I don’t like it.”

Cloud doesn’t like it, either. Could Tifa feel whatever it was causing problems in Sephiroth’s mind? Or did she just have that keen an instinct for danger? _I wouldn’t put it past her._

“Don’t worry about it.” He insists, squeezing her hand. “He’ll be out of town by the end of the week.”

The thought is… sobering. And Cloud’s not sure how he feels about it.

“What about your mom?” The woman whispers. Cloud blinks, confused. “She’s not here. She not feeling well?”

“No,” Cloud shakes his head. “She was fine. Left before I did to come down here.” Eyes narrowed, he glances around the gathered crowd, ignoring the few glaring sets of eyes mad at them for talking. She’s not here. Frowning, he starts stepping away. “I’m gonna go find her.”

“Want help?”

“No, it’s fine, stay.”

He breaks off from the crowd, wrapping his arms around himself, and starts to walk off. Only, he slows to a halt. Eyes narrow. Is that his mother, the figure in the distance, stumbling through the snow? … no… that’s not her silhouette. And… there’s another, beside them. And another. And… how many people were late to the memorial?

“Tifa…” He speaks loudly, prompting more glares and a “shush”, all of which fades away when the others turn and see what he’s seeing. One… and another… and another… shapes coming from the shadows, people appearing from nowhere. Where did they all come from?

“Excuse me?” A hand hovers at his shoulder, close to his blade. He steps forward. “Excuse me, sir?”

At this distance he can see them better – a tall, cloaked figure, stumbling through the dark. Speaking, but at such a whisper that even Cloud’s struggling with it.

“I can’t hear you – are you okay?” Hesitatingly a little, he steps forward, hand extended.

Then, he hears them clearly, for the first time.

“Reunion.”

 

 


	14. Regrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, graduated college. that's a thing i did. huzzah. now back to your regular program of angst and sarcasm.

“How the hell does this count as a plan?”

Smirking over the edge of the newspaper in her hands, Yuffie cocks an eyebrow. “It’ll work just fine,” She insists, straightening her paper back out. “So long as you cool it.”

Huffing, Barret remains flustered, a big burly man hunched over a small café table in a hole in the wall in Cosmo Canyon. His foot is practically shaking under the table. “They could be here by now woman! We need to move!”

“That’s what they’ll be looking for!” Sighing, Yuffie drops the paper. “Two people running for their lives is a dead giveaway. But they don’t actually know what we look like. We lay low, act like we belong here, let them move on their way, and then we can make a break for the coast.”

She’s explained this a hundred times, but Barret still feels antsy about it. “Ugh,” Sighing himself, he throws a hand over his face. “I dunno how well this is gonna work.”

“Like I said – chill and it’ll be fine! We’ll look just like tourists, we just have to play the part, Dad.”

“Oh, Gods, if I was your father I’d kill myself.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Caught up in the conversation, neither of them noticed the newcomer approaching their table slowly and quietly. Only once the stranger stood just before them, a lean figure with a red cape falling over his shoulders, did they notice. Two sharp red eyes look both of them up and down, wide, curious, and sharp.

Yuffie tenses, just barely, but sticks to her role. “Dad do you know this guy?”

“Uh – excuse me,” Barret, however, is no actor. But at least he’s trying. “Who are you?”

The man takes one more look at both of them, before reaching for his ear, and saying the word, “Boomshakalaka.”

Yuffie stares. Beside her, she’s pretty sure Barret’s about to have a fit. The tall man stands, looking ready to defend his “daughter” from the weirdo.

“What the hell was that?”

“A codeword.” The man replies simply.

“Code for what!?”

And then a half dozen armed soldiers surrounded them.

 

* * *

 

It took six days total for the Highwind to arrive in Cosmo Canyon. Once it arrived, the ship took anchor outside of town, and a small team descended to the earth below to find the insurgents.

The leader of said team was Zack, who was thrilled to be in charge and giving orders to a team of about twelve, which included to his great surprise, Vincent Valentine.

“Oh, this is so cool!” The man gushed the whole way into town, having chosen Vincent as his partner. “A legendary Turk and super SOLDIER team up! This’ll be awesome!”

“…”

“I bet we’ll be the ones to find them too. Won’t that be awesome? Don’t forget to use the code word.”

“…”

“Man, you’re something else. That’s alright though, I’m used to the silent treatment with Seph.” Shrugging, the man walks with his hands behind his head, a small grin on his face, as they enter town. “You remind me of him a lot, you know?”

That’s the first thing that prompts a real reaction – a sharp look, pointed like daggers, to which Zack holds up his hands in self defense.

“Easy! I didn’t mean anything by it!” Of course, the look in his eye says otherwise. But Zack knows better than to push.

To be honest, he’s not sure what to think of this guy. He wants to like him, and Zack usually does like everyone. But in this case he finds himself extra critical, watching like a hawk everything Vincent does. Because he knows, whether blood or no, that Sephiroth now sees this man as family, and Zack has watched over the last five years as Sephiroth’s “family” has beaten, abused, and tormented him.

He’s not gonna let it happen a second time.

Not that he thinks Vincent is inclined to any of Hojo’s darker passtimes; but he knows the man has his hangups, and has already hurt Sephiroth with his distance. Zack desperately wants to help somehow.

“Look,” Vincent takes Zack’s attention away from his thoughts. The man nods, indicating the path ahead of them, and Zack follows his gaze to a familiar face.

“Hey!” The SOLDIER beams, calling out to the other. “Hey, Red!”

The cat creature perks up, head turning to face them, before bounding over to say hello. “It’s a surprise to see you here.” Clearly, the cat is nervous, eying both of them with some suspicious. Still being Shinra isn’t earning Zack any friends. “Where’s Cloud?”

“Back at home. We’re heading to meet up with him after some business here.”

It takes a minute of chatting, but the cat relaxes, and eventually travels with them. They walk along together, Zack and Nanaki talking the whole while, until eventually they come to a halt.

“What happened to your companion?” Nanaki questions. Zack, realizing for the first time that Vincent has disappeared, begins to panic.

That’s when his ear piece flares up with the crackle of sound. “Boomshakalaka.”

* * *

  
Zack’s the one who handles talking to them.

Vincent sits outside the closed room, hovering, listening. None of its very surprising. The woman all but refuses to talk, shouting expletives and creative curses all the while, and the man is almost as determined to be unhelpful. Zack’s been trying for an hour to convince them that they are not here under official orders and they are not taking them custody for Shinra. It’s not working.

Footsteps echo down the hall, metallic and grating. Vincent blinks, and sees the Captain emerge from the shadows, a trail of smoke filtering behind him. His eyes blaze in the dark, lit by the embers of a real cigarette perched on his mouth, between two fingers.

He removes it, flicks the ashes away. “Had a weak moment,” He mutters, eyes lowered, voice low. After a minute, he tosses it aside, stamps it out. With a quiet curse he settles against the wall, hands in his pockets. “Anything yet?”

Vincent merely shakes his head. In reply, Cid curses, to no one’s surprise. His fingers twitch at his sides, head falling back to rest against the wall.

The brunette turns to examine him. “Feeling well?”

It’s clear the man’s not. He’s agitated, fidgeting, bags beneath his eyes. Cid’s sharp gaze hits him, cockeyed. A silent acknowledgment – that they both know what’s going on – travels between them.

Vincent fights, and then gives in to the urge to give voice to it. “Have you… learned anything?”

Cid hesitates. “… nothin’ yet.” Eyes that are wide and surprisingly nervous meet Vincent’s. “What do you think?”

Vincent turns his head. “His mother all but confirmed it.”

A vehement series of curses escapes him, as Cid drags a hand down his face. After a minute his body copies the motion, sliding down the wall. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

“I cannot say. I am not her.”

“I woulda been there.” He’s shaking a little, fists clenched at his sides. “I woulda helped, damnit.”

“Perhaps that is why.” Vincent feels completely out of his depths here, but he can’t say nothing.

“The fuck you mean?”

“Maybe she did not want help.”

“Didn’t I deserve to know!?”

“Yes.” That much Vincent knows. “But I’m sure she had her reasons.” There’s really nothing else that can be said. There’s so much that’s unknown: whether they really are related, why they were kept apart. The two fall silent, until Cid turns his gaze.

“What about you?” He mutters. Vincent hesitates to turn his head. “That boy… he yours?”

Vincent says nothing. Cid nods, and turns away. Neither of them are sure. And neither of them are sure how to feel about it.

Vincent’s gloved hand curls into a fist. A minute passes, then another. Suddenly the man bursts into action, so fast the pilot jumps. He storms forward through the door into the room with Zack and the two strangers, all of whom break out of their argument to turn to Vincent in shock and surprise.

The man ignores them, moving straight to the nearest rebel, the young girl. He throws out his arm, lifting the sleeve to reveal the scars, where the clasps in the gold metal are welded into his skin, where he’s been cut open, sewn shut.

“Shinra did this,” He mutters, voice thick. “I was one of them, and they betrayed me. Left me to rot. What remains of the establishment which allowed this travesty and so many others will be destroyed. The question is,” He eyes one, then the other. “Will you help us do it, or not?”

The wide eyed girl takes just a moment more to look upon the gruesome marks on him, before giving a slow nod.

* * *

  
The Highwind remains parked over Cosmo Canyon one night longer.

It’s a good chance to refuel and stock up, to give the crew a little rest before heading off again. Vincent’s not thrilled, but agrees to it, and Zack happily takes the chance to run off for a little R & R with Aerith. They’re gone within the first hour of the announcement of their stay.

The two rebels are still locked on the ship, if only to be sure they don’t bolt. Zack had spoken to them for hours after they’d finally agreed to help, and they seemed genuine, but there was no room for taking risks. Vincent had approved. Zack might seem airheaded, but he’s a keen tactical mind, hidden beneath a bubbly exterior.

Vincent watches from a distance, upon the ship. The young man and his lover have been joined by the cat, Nanaki, on a tour of the Canyon. Many of the ship’s crew are below as well, but as he scans with his sharp narrowed eyes, Vincent can’t seem to find the Captain.

Then he smells it; grease, sweat, and tea leaves. He turns, stiffening somewhat, to see the Captain crossing towards him.

Vincent isn’t sure how to handle Cid Highwind. He’s an odd soul; an interesting one for certain, but one Vincent’s not sure how to trust. It’s old hat now to be leery of Shinra, not to mention Shinra scientists, and a head of department at that. Cid is quite literally from the same mold as Hojo – it’s only a matter of seeing if his character is from that same mold as well. It doesn’t look it, but Vincent’s been burned too many times to cease being leery now.

It’s just… if this man is Cloud’s father? That complicates things even further. Is he a good man? Can he be trusted? Can he be a good father for the boy? Does Cloud even know, or want to know, or want him around? And why does all of this tug at his heart so?

Vincent frowns, turning his gaze away.

Cid walks up until they’re almost a foot apart, before sitting, letting his legs dangle out over the edge, leaning on the safety bar. “Not goin’ sight seeing?” The man’s smirking, his vaporizer back again.

The brunette huffs. “Do I look like a tourist?”

“Maybe.” There’s a grin on the captain’s face as he shrugs. “One of those convention things people go to, dress up and shit. Like a vampire or something.”

Vincent doesn’t understand a word of it, so he just ignores it. Cid doesn't seem to mind – it's a strange quirk of the mans' that he's so keen to fill silence, yet so comfortable in it sometimes, too. He sits relaxed against the bars, fingers tapping on the metal, before reaching into his pocket.

He doesn't pull out the vaporizer – it's a real cigarette. Cid notices Vincent watching and grunts. “Don't do it much anymore,” He admits guiltily, flicking his lighter. “Been a rough day.”

Vincent just watches. The smoke billows and wavers with the wind. “In my day,” He says, “There was no reason not to.”

“You ever smoke?”

He nods. “It was normal. Lucrecia smoked – even during her pregnancy. To think, now...” Haltingly, Vincent falls silent. “The world has moved far beyond me.”

“What, 'cause you're behind on medical science? Shit,” The man chuckles, shaking his head. “I know fuck all bout the world I'm living in, besides flying and science, that shit. Nobody knows it all. You figure out what you're good at, you stick to it, you'll work out fine.”

“And what is that?” Vincent murmurs, eyes half lidded. “It's not so simple to find a purpose.”

“Sure it is,” Cid insists with a shrug. Vincent meets his gaze. “If you can't find a purpose – you make one. Cloud's mama taught me that one.” If he hesitates and struggles with the words for a minute, Vincent takes no notice of it. “When the world come out from under you, you're the one who's gotta pick yourself back up. Ain't nobody else can do it for you – they can help, but that can't make ya put one foot in front of the other. And when you're on your feet, you gotta give yourself a reason to get moving.”

“Speaking from experience?”

Cid waits. Takes a puff from the cigarette. “When I lost Shinra – let's be honest, it was losin' flying that fucked me up – I was a wreck. Drinking, smoking, havin' temper tantrums. I was in no right state of mind. Miss Strife kicked my ass into gear. Cleared my head and got me going. That's when I started all this.” He waves to the machine they're sitting on. “I wouldn't have this, if not for her.” Taking another puff, he turns his head. “She's a goddamn lifesaver.”

For a moment, Vincent simply watches the man. Sharp keen eyes stare unblinking, and Cid seems unmoved. He sits relaxed as usual, watching the sky. Then, Vincent's gloved hand suddenly reaches out, and Cid reacts with shock – but not fast enough to keep it from snatching his cigarette.

“Hey!”

“I've heard these are bad for you,” Vincent says, examining the thing, twisting it in his hand. Cid can only watch, slightly baffled, as the man smirks and lets it fall from limp fingers, drifting lazily to the ground more than a hundred feet below.

* * *

  
Cloud Strife is not having a good day.

For one, he's in Nibelheim, and that never spells out “good time” for anyone. In fact, having a “good time” has been against the law according to the penal code for the last seventy years.

So, at least's he's not gonna get in any legal trouble for all this bullshit.

Shrugging off the man assaulting him, Cloud turns and finds even more coming at his back. “Is there an end to these?”

Tifa, across from him, is handling a group on her own. They aren't dangerous – they're slow, dim witted, and unarmed – but their relentless, and there are hundreds of them. It's like a zombie movie, only the zombies don't bite, they just keep mumbling over and over.

“Reunion...”

That word – the moment he heard it, Cloud knew. This all ties back into Shinra and Sephiroth, somehow. That research, the mansion, all of it connects. He's got to get away and talk to Sephiroth, but at the moment, he and Tifa and a few other denizens of the town are all that stands between this slow moving mob and Nibelheim's general populace.

Dim witted or not, these things are dangerous.

“Cloud! Watch it!”

Shit – he spins, sees already the problem Tifa's caught onto. One of the dumbasses managed to trip on his robes, flinging himself against some of the other creatures. They tumble in a heap, tearing down some of the beams supporting the lanterns overhead. The lights slip, the ropes holding them going slack, until they snap and the lanterns swing, straight for the god damn houses.

Talk about a fire hazard.

Grimacing, Cloud breaks into a run, watching as the lanterns hit their mark. The crack of glass, the heavy burst of a small flame erupting into something larger given more kindling. The roof of one of the houses is already half gone. But maybe he can keep it from spreading.

Cloud leaps, activing the water materia on his bracer, sending a torrent over the home. But it's already spread to the roof next door – Cloud lands on the house, frowning when he notices the spread – the wood creaks beneath him – fuck.

Shingles crack and the weight gives way, and he falls into the house. Because of course. This is his damn luck. And while he's floundering, the town is catching on fire, and Shinra's weirdoes are breaking in, and where the hell is Sephiroth?

The mansion, right. He'd said he'd wanted to look around.

Standing, Cloud begins casting more spells, aiming for the fallen beams around him still aflame, trying to think of what his next move should be. Stick with Tifa? Defend the town that never gave a rat's ass about him? Or look for Sephiroth, the man who admittedly has not been the friendliest or most genial of people but who has, at least, not kicked him in the face and spat on him before leaving him to rot. (There are multiple people in this damn town who have done that. A sad thought.)

Cursing, Cloud bursts out the front door of the house, looking for Tifa through the smoke. He can't even see her. And suddenly he remembers who else has been missing – his mom. Who never showed up to the memorial before all this began.

Had she seen them coming? Had she gone to stop them?

Suddenly, he knows what he must do, and Cloud bursts into a run towards his house.

* * *

  
When he leaves the mansion, Nibelheim is on fire.

“Oh, fuck,” He says, and just like that all the emotions and feelings are tucked away and General Sephiroth is back.

Frowning, the man storms down the hill for the town like hell is on his heels, or more appropriately, he is the hell in heels coming for whatever the fuck is fucking with his day. Because clearly someone did this to fuck him over, why else would a tiny town in the middle of nowhere matter to anyone?

Fuming, Sephiroth draws Masamune and cuts down the first unfortunate hooded thing assaulting two screaming natives, who stare in fear and horror at Sephiroth as soon as they see who it is. He ignores them; turns the creature over with his boot, examining the face beneath the hood.

It's a deformed creature, something that once was human but no longer is, and it has no place in this tiny hamlet tucked between the mountains. Frowning more deeply, Sephiroth storms into town.

He's tossing spells left and right, mastered materia flaring to life with barely a thought. It's practically raining by the time he gets to the town square where most of the creatures are, and sees Cloud's friend Tifa fighting them off with a few of the locals.

“Ms. Lockhart, move!”

She listens like a SOLDIER, falling to her knees in time for Masamune to swing over and cut down a dozen of the beasts in one swoop. The other locals stare in awe, having never seen it – Tifa, to her credit, leaps up and keeps fighting, like being in combat back to back with Shinra's General is a normal part of her life.

“Nice for you to show up,” The girl grunts, punching one of the things in the face. “Here, these are for you.” She gestures to the creatures, before kicking one of the ones struggling to stand.

“Yes, I imagine they must be.”

“They won't shut up about reunion!” Tifa says. “That mean anything to you?”

Sephiroth's eyes flare. “Interesting.” He says, even as he kills twenty of them, without so much as blinking.

The rest of the locals are just standing back and watching, at this point.

In no time, the threat is contained, the creatures are dead or knocked down, and Tifa and Sephiroth stand in the middle of the chaos, of a town half burned down and covered in cloaked bodies.

Tifa, gasping for breath, wipes the sweat from her brow. “I hate you so much right now,” She manages between gasps. “This is all your fault somehow.”

“Where's Cloud?”

She shrugs, unconcerned. “I think he ran off looking for his mom. She never showed up for the memorial.”

Eyes narrowed, Sephiroth turns his gaze southward, and begins to march.

* * *

  
Jean Strife does not have regrets.

Regrets would imply mistakes. Not that she's not made mistakes – of course she has, for Gods' sake – it's just, she knows she did what she had to. Did what she could, when she could. Made the best of what she had. Regret would imply she made a wrong choice, but looking back, seeing what her life was then, Jean can't help but think it's all turned out for the best.

She's had a great life. Yeah, there's been trouble. A place like Nibelheim invites it. Cold weather and cold hearted, that's the place she calls home. It cost her family, long ago. Brother that didn't survive the winter, parents that died fighting a damn dragon – because lunacy is apparently an inherited trait.

But she loves her life. Jean's traveled, fought, explored, conquered so much in the world. And to her great surprise and joy, she's been able to give life, not just take it. To have a son.

Maybe it was selfish, keeping him to herself. But in a way, it was selfless too. Because she knows Cid would have helped – of course he would. But would it have been out of love? Or out of obligation? This was a man with big dreams, a man shooting literally for the stars – a child... was a lot of work.

She didn't want him to lose his dreams. Didn't want him involved in the kid's life out of some feeling of debt. But she had no idea if Cid even wanted kids or not, no idea how to even work out a relationship with her living in Nibelheim, and his work in Rocket Town, and the baby torn between them?

It never would have worked.

She'd written a letter, once. Never sent it out. Eventually, she tucked it away in the safe, in case she ever passed and Cloud went looking for answers. The kid deserved to know, and yeah, Cid deserved to know. She just... never knew how to go about it, and when the time would be right.

The longer she waited, the harder it got. The older Cloud got, the thinner her excuses got. Cid's business was established, his airships flying fine without him – he could've spared time for a kid. Cloud was an adult, could've gone and goddamn lived in Rocket Town, if he'd wanted.

… so, why?

She was scared. Scared of so many things. Of Cid's reaction, of Cloud's, of what might happen. Would Cloud be furious with her? He'd never seemed interested in his father's identity, never pressed much. But maybe it was something he'd kept from her. Maybe, finding out the truth, he'd begrudge her earlier reluctance...

It's a lead weight on her soul, now, this secret. She wants to say it, share it, and has no idea how.

She hopes she'll have the chance.

“I don't remember inviting guests over for dinner.”

The man stands in complete shadow. He's alone, so it seems, but Jean is sure there are others nearby. She can practically feel their eyes on her. In one hand, she holds her cane, using it as a crutch as she steps forward through the shadowed living room.

“Ms. Strife,” The man's voice is nasally, obnoxious. She already doesn't like him. “You are no concern to me. Merely a means to an end. Your son has become something of an interest to my research, and your cooperation will ensure his.”

Alarm flares in her veins like fire.

“You stay the hell away from my boy.”

The man's head moves – light flashes off of the man's glasses, lens flaring. Then he smiles. Two men appear out of the shadows nearby, armed, and begin approaching her.

Jean's hand tightens on her cane.

“I'm warning you.” She doesn't back up – doesn't move. “Leave my house, now.” They don't listen. They keep approaching, helmets blocking their eyes so all she can see is that unnerving red circle.

When they come within reach of her, Jean's hand twists the handle on her cane.

It clicks, and comes free – and she pulls a sword, about four feet long, from the wooden sheath of the cane. Then, she flips the cane sheath into her other hand, smacks one soldier across the head with it, striking another with the blade on his arm. She hears him curse and drop his weapon – a rookie move. Clearly some young buck who expected no fight out of the old lady.

That'll teach him.

She spins, knocks one of the grunts in the neck with the cane, and he goes down. More are appearing suddenly – and she fights, goddamn she fights. It's been a while though, and she's old and tired, and cause they're Shinra they don't fight fucking fair.

She feels the dart hit her thigh and curses. Falling to one knee, Jean's world spins, but she can still see enough and hear enough. She sees Cloud run in, hears his voice screaming for her as if he's miles away, and sees the soldiers running for him.

She tries to speak. Tries to say something, anything. But she can't. And for the first time, Jean Strife has regrets.

 

 


	15. Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, this chapter and a few after it are gonna get dark. Hojo stuff. Our poor baby boys are losing their damn minds. Literally. T.T

Cid stares at the paper in his hand, eyes blank and unmoving. He's not reading it – he's barely even registering it. He's already read it a thousand times, a few hours ago, he just... can't let it go. So he's standing on the bridge at the helm looking like a complete fucking idiot, one hand on the wheel and one hand on this piece of paper, barely paying attention to his damn job.

No one mentions it. No one says a thing. Everyone keeps their distance, gives him a wide berth, and the few times he looks up he catches sympathetic and knowing glances.

Word's already spread through the ship then. It's no longer a secret, not from him, not from anyone, except for possibly Cloud himself.

Cloud is his son.

Cid's hand tightens until the paper crinkles, and he glances away with a grunt and a curse. There's so much inside him, so many feelings at war he doesn't know what to feel, or what to say. Anger, confusion, fear, curiosity, dread, even hope. It's a clusterfuck and he can't process it now, so it just lingers on his psyche, pushed to the back of his mind.

He still doesn't let go of the paternity test.

“Sir!”

One of his men approaches, standing at attention. “There's a problem! Activity on the sensors – major temperature shifts and geometric readings in the vicinity of Nibelheim, which our specialists believe may indicate an Active Event of some kind.”

Immediately, Cid's eyes narrow, waving someone else over to take over the helm. “What level?”

“Code Shiva, sir.”

Shiva? Shit. That was one of the highest danger code levels, second only to Bahamut. Meaning that somewhere in or around the base of Mt. Nibel, there was fiend activity large enough to register on their scanners. The ground shaking, spikes and sudden falls of temperature indicating flares of heat or ice... definitely monsters. And as he follows his man to the station with the readout, Cid realizes it's a shitton of monsters.

“Fuck!”

“What's wrong?”

Spinning round, Cid curses again. “The fuck are you, a ghost?” Still, he waves Vincent over, indicating the map. “Nibelheim's in trouble. Readings indicate at least a hundred, probably more, monsters in the area. With that many, they gotta be going after people – the town'll be the goal.” Sighing, he turns to order his men to pick up the pace, only to see the flare of Vincent's coattails as he disappears down the hall.

“H – Hey! What the hell?” Shouting a few orders, Cid runs after. “Where're you going?”

“Nibelheim,” Vincent murmurs, words heavy like a promise, his eyes hard and expression determined. Cid has to practically run to keep up with his long strides, gaze darting around. They're heading low, for the decks... on the way they pass a few folks, all of whom seem to realize something's happening.

Zack, of all of them, catches onto the danger fastest. “What's up?” He falls into step next to Cid, leaving the young Wutaian nationalist behind. They'd been caught up in a card game of some sort, and Yuffie's yells about Zack still owing her the winnings echoed behind them. Eyes hard and serious, the usually goofy young man looks the part of a SOLDIER, all right.

“Not sure. Monsters, round Nibelheim.” He summarizes sufficiently. “Not sure how the hell it happened, came outta nowhere.”

“Fuck.” Zack curses. “I've seen this before. Dumping a ton of monsters out of the blue into a rural area is a Shinra calling card.”

They come out to the deck on the bottom of the ship. Cid slows to a halt, only to stare in awe as Vincent climbs up onto the damn railing. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” The captain rushes forward, grabbing at the man's cloak, catching it's tail in his fingers. The brunette merely glances over his shoulder, completely unconcerned and unaffected by the danger.

“I will be faster on my own.” He explains – barely – before shifting his weight, letting gravity take over as his long, lithe form slips over the edge. The cloak slides through Cid's fingers, and Vincent drops, all too soon a red dot below.

Cid never forgot the sight he'd seen when he'd first met the man, and become involved in all this. He knows, logically, that Vincent isn't a suicidal idiot – he thinks. He hopes. The man obviously has a plan, and the plan involves wings.

Fucking wings.

“Wha – hey, man, wait!” Zack starts grabbing onto Cid, much as the blonde had done a moment ago.

“Leggo, I got this!” Cid violently wheels his arm around, trying to break free of his hold.

“Last time I checked, pilots had to have planes to fly!”

“Obviously Vince's got a way to do it!” Cid insists, breaking free and turning to face Zack, one leg perched on the railing. “He's a good guy. He won't let me fall.” Probably. He's mostly sure.

One way to find out.

Cid takes advantage of Zack's momentary shock to push off the railing. In the next moment he's freefalling, and shock hits him like a ton of bricks. Wind rushing over him, wailing in his ears, clothes whipping all around him. This is a familiar feeling – but he's never felt it so freely. With no shield or barrier between him and the expansive sky. It's... freeing. For a moment it hits him that he could die this way, and he doesn't think he'd care. This is how he wants to live, and die, free like this, chasing the dreams he's always had, even at the cost of his life.

Then, the great big blue is interrupted with a flash of red, the heavy impact of another body against his own, and the chafing of leather on his skin.

It's still a shock when he's rescued, though it had been his plan – actually experiencing a near death experience, followed by being caught by an actually flying person is still a little too unreal to be completely prepared for. Let alone the fact that Vincent goddamn growled in his ear like a fucking beast, voice gravelly and too heavy to recognize.

There are no words – at least, none Cid understands. “Hey,” He manages nervously. “Can I hitch a ride?”

“Me, too!” They both turn, and Cid realizes Vincent had taken them back up, near the deck of the ship. Zack is leaning over the edge and waving. “Do you think you could pick me up, though? I'm not a huge fan of heights.”

Vincent gives another growl, and somehow Cid thinks it sounds resigned. He chooses to understand it as acceptance.

* * *

 

They arrive to find the center of town in shambles.

Blood – so much of it the air reeks – and flames, dying and spread thin as the remnants of a fire that had blazed before. In the center stands a handful of surviving fighters, elders of the town, Tifa Lockhart, and of course, Sephiroth.

“Heyyyy!” The moment he sees him, Zack starts waving from his perch, latched onto Vincent's back like an affectionate koala bear. “Seph!!! How's it going?”

Sephiroth merely glances their way, eyes narrowed in irritation. “What are you doing?”

“I'm flying!” They descend, Vincent regretting all the while ever being involved in this folly. He shakes the humans off, trying to ignore Chaos' grumbling in the back of his head, muttering and groaning his usual angry territorial BS. One look at Sephiroth, though, and the beast howls.

“Mr. Valentine.” The man is distant, covered in blood that's not his own, save one small scratch on his cheek. Vincent is zeroed in on it – he can't look away. It's absolutely nothing but he can't stop staring. Sephiroth notices, gaze turning as he frowns and rubs his cheek. “A momentary distraction. I attempted to seek out Cloud Strife and was – delayed.” He says the words with shame and bitter anger, clenching his fists, and all that does is make Vincent tremble while Chaos all but screams in his mind, now with the knowledge that not only is Sephiroth's blood in the air, but Cloud is not here.

“Where is he?” The man can barely keep the beast from taking control, and he certainly can't force him back beneath the surface. Sephiroth's eyes widen, suddenly cold and distant once again.

“I do not know. There have been too many beasts -” And almost as if purposefully engaging in irony, the monsters descend on them again. Three enormous wild creatures, all draconic in nature, though smaller than most typical dragons in the area. But there is something clearly wrong with them, even without Vincent's heightened senses, something in the strange green glow of their eyes, the overly manic and wild behavior.

Tifa is in the crowd near them, fending off two on her own. Vincent draws his gun and blasts one of the beasts away with a single shot. That draws her attention. “Where's Cloud?”

“He went looking for his mom!” She shouts at him, punching one of the beasts in the throat. It roars and topples over, crushing the fountain in the center of the square. “Aww, I liked that thing.”

Growling, Vincent turns, about to burst into the air again, when a hand takes hold of his shoulder. As tense and irritated as he is, he (Chaos) about takes the man's arm off. If not for SOLDIER reflexes, that is.

“Whoa, hey!” Zack holds up his arms in surrender. “Look, I'll go find him. You stay here, fight with them.” Vincent wants to argue, wants to rail against the man and soar off right away, but... he hesitates.

Zack's gaze shifts – darts from Vincent, to behind him, where a silver haired warrior is fighting. He knows. He knows the conflict in Vincent's heart, and it eases the man's anger a bit.

Finally, he nods, spinning around to face the horde again. With a flick of his wrists, he shoots one beast 's head clear off, a beast which had been heading for Sephiroth's open back. The man's tiring – a terrifying thought, since these are not the kinds of beasts at his level. It makes sense. Given the stress and trauma of recent events, he can't be at his best.

Vincent scowls, red and black eyes flaring, and keeps firing.

* * *

Between the darkness, he dreams.

It's pitch black, most of the time. But once in a while an image flickers to life: his mother on the ground, the man in the labcoat grinning at him from above. There's someone else, soon after – a man shouting his name, fighting... they're moving, but he can't see. Everything is hazy, blurry, like it's happening to someone else far away.

“It's gonna be okay, buddy, I promise.” Who's talking? “Don't worry, I'll figure a way outta here.” Who's he talking to? “Cloud, can you hear me?”

_… that's me._

He fades away again, and the next time he opens his eyes, he really wishes he hadn't.

The first thing he does is try to move, only to be waylaid by straps on his arms, wrists, ankles, legs, torso... even his neck. Not to mention his muscles feel like jello, like someone scooped his insides. His throat is sore, his mouth tastes like shit, and he could really use something to drink but Cloud has the feeling the scientists lurking around him don't care much.

“Good morning.”

Cloud manages a grunt. It was supposed to be a 'fuck you', but grunting was all he could manage.

The speaker steps into the light, and Cloud's heart stops in his chest. Prof. Hojo. Panic beats like a drum in his veins and he clenches his fists but there's no way to fight.

“You are an interesting specimen...” The man begins to pace, speaking but Cloud knows he's not really being spoken to. “Yes... such a high mako tolerance developed from a young age... physical potential clearly of the SOLDIER level... but what to do with... and then... yes... but what if...” The man begins to cackle, his incoherent words and babble sending fresh stabs of panic through Cloud's body. It hurts. Every heartbeat hurts. Someone just connected something to the IV in his arm and he doesn't know what it is or where he is or who -

His _mom_.

Suddenly he fights more viciously, straining with all his strength while giving a startled yell. Metal bends, alarms shriek, and the scientists begin running around like headless chocobos. But there's a new needle in his arm and hands holding him down, and then a hazy cloud suffocates his mind.

“Hmm... yes... perhaps you can be the one... Reunion has been proven... but to have a true copy... the J cells... yes...”

That's the last thing he hears for a long time.

* * *

Sephiroth sits on the airship scowling at his boots. Not that he's particularly irritated at them. They're suitable boots. He likes his clothes, they're one of the few things about himself he's been allowed to control -

He's drifting again.

Sephiroth glowers, leaning forward with his arms on his knees, completely exhausted and downtrodden and cursing himself for his folly.

Everything is a disaster. The terrorists were captured and convinced to aid them, but besides that – disaster. Cloud's hometown is in shambles. On the anniversary of the day so many disappeared, a few dozen more were killed. Homes lost, animals killed and property ruined. Dead monster corpses spread all through town. The snow, more pink than white now.

And Cloud and Zack, completely disappeared.

He blames himself. Well, Sephiroth blames himself for every failure, since as leader it is his responsibility to prevent them in the first place. But this time, he is particularly to blame, because he knows why things happened as they did. He knows Zack elected to find Cloud on his own. He knows Vincent opted to stay behind. He knows why.

Trembling hands lift and grab at his hair, tugging until it hurts.

What is wrong with him? He feels like the world is tipping on its axis and he's struggling to stay standing. His senses are a whirlwind. Colors too bright, vision distorted and curved, then suddenly back to normal as if he imagined it. Maybe he's losing his mind. They all said it would happen eventually.

Footsteps echo in the hall. Sephiroth can't even care enough to put himself back together and keep the illusion of decorum. He just... doesn't care.

Someone sits across from him, on another bench. He ignores them. Breaths, heavily and deeply, near to hyperventilating, unable to forget the look on Vincent's face when they'd searched the whole town and realized Cloud was just gone.

Unable to forget his best friend – only friend's – confident smile, before he'd turned and run away, and disappeared.

_All your friends disappear._

“Shut up...”

_Maybe it's because of you._

“Shut up!”

“I didn't say anything.”

Sephiroth's head snaps up. Sitting across from him is the girl in the pink dress – Zack's girl. The flower girl.

“Aerith.”

“Yup.” She smiles, nods her head. For some reason, this is important. Sephiroth feels his head clearing, feeling empty and tired but... good.

Then, he remembers.

“I'm sorry.” He manages dryly, voice almost cracking. He really has fallen far.

“What for?” Looking up, he sees her smiling – but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. She's trying, but he can see the tear tracks left on her face, the redness of her eyes. She's tired, too. After a moment, the look softens into something a little more truthful. “It wasn't your fault.”

He says nothing. There's a voice that would tell him... a voice? What would it tell him? There's no voice – just him and Aerith, and this tragedy unfolding around them.

“I will find him.” Sephiroth insists suddenly, fists clenching. “Valentine is tracking the mother's scent, from her blood on the scene. Given the evidence left behind, it's clear Hojo is behind this. No one else could be.” Her eyes widen, like an frightened animal, and he remembers she's had the same unpleasant experience of knowing the man that Sephiroth has. “We have some idea of where he would take them, and Valentine will be able to pinpoint it more accurately once we are in the area.”

After the moment, she gives a short nod. “... how long?”

He's not sure. He says as much. Aerith just hums. “So... we're stuck waiting.” A chuckle. “The worst part.”

He has nothing to say in return, so he stays silent.

“Hey,”

Glancing up, he sees her smiling again, and he wonders how it is she seems to do it so easily. “I was wondering...” She scoots forward, hands on her knees, an excited expression on her face and for a moment it's as if she's forgotten the love of her life vanished into thin air. “We're going to have to fight more soon. I'm not the best at it – I'm pretty good in the slums, but monsters are different. So... I was wondering... would you give me some pointers?”

He blinks. Then he stares. Then, he scrambles for words.

“Why?”

The girl doesn't seem to realize the strangeness of the situation. She just blinks, like he's a little slow, which today he just might be. “You're the best fighter on the ship! Well, maybe Mr. Vincent is really good too, but I don't use guns. I have a staff,” She lifts it from where it was leaning on the wall beside her. “And that's kinda like a sword I guess. More than a gun.”

Sephiroth can barely keep the frown from his face. “They are not the same at all.”

Smiling, the girl laughs again. “Well, then, you'll have to teach me the difference!”

He can't help it. He feels cornered, and more than that, he doesn't actually feel too bothered to be cornered. Something about her is comforting, better than being alone. So he stands, and so does she, and they walk together to find a place to train.

* * *

He's in the dark. Lost in the dark, fading and drifting. Everything - hurts. That's why he... went away. away from the hurt. But it finds him in the dark, pinpricks and scorches, words and voices...

_What use was she once I had my prey? Ku ku ku... the woman is long gone._

He screams. And keeps screaming, in agony, and he shatters in the dark.

* * *

It takes Zack a few days to break out.

It might've taken longer, if his guards hadn't underestimated him so badly. The scientists and the soldiers that worked with them apparently underestimated the SOLDIERS they had created. They thought him a dunce, and Zack had played along. He took great pleasure in knocking them flat once they'd outlived their uses.

"Pft," Gasping for breath through the pain, he manages a smile. "Teach you about... books and covers..." He's damn tired. He might've surrendered upon coming across Hojo taking Cloud and his mother, to keep them safe, but that meant nothing to the men under Hojo. Since the good doctor had no interest in Zack, they were free to do what they wanted.

He's fine though, really. Trying to straighten up, he winces a little. He'll be fine. He just has to find Ms. Strife and Cloud, and get them outta here.

* * *

"..."

"Cloud? Hey, Cloudy!"

"..."

"You in there? Come on we gotta go!"

He blinks. The world is dark - darker than he is used to. Quickly his eyesight recovers and returns to its typical strength, and everything becomes visible in the shadows.

"Hey,"

He turns, facing the speaker. It's a young brunette, in a SOLDIER's uniform. Automatically he is suspicious, eyes narrowing, sitting up and shifting away. It hurts - grimacing, he glances down, and realizes his predicament.

Panic does not hit him - he calms himself, before forcibly removing the IVs. "Hey, wait!" The man tries to stop him. With one hand, he grabs the SOLDIER by the collar, and shoves him across the floor. "Holy - Cloud! What's up?"

Snarling almost, the blonde finishes removing the devices on him, ignoring the acid trying to crawl up his throat. He forces his limbs to stop shaking, and stands, immediately examining his surroundings.

"Cloud..." The brunette is still speaking to him. "Come on, we've gotta go. They still have your mom, we need to -"

Narrowing his eyes, he interupts. "Who are you?"

"Who -?" He blinks. "Cloud. Seriously. What did they do to you?"

Another snarl rises to his lips. "It is not your concern."

The frown worsens. "You don't sound like yourself."

"I don't know you."

"Look, just, - we have to go. Your mom -"

"Is dead." Has been for a long time. His father as well. He's alone in this world - that's how it's always been.

But the brunette looks devastated, heart torn, at the declaration. "Oh, Cloud..."

"How do you know my name?" He narrows his gaze further, examining the man, taking in the facts. Clearly a SOLDIER, recently incarcerated, another escapee most likely... injured as well, though healing rapidly, as SOLDIERS tend to do.

"Okay we'll chat later. We really need to get out of here. I'm Zack, okay? Just... come with me?"

The one called Zack is imploring, concerned, and seems to be another prisoner of the lab. For that reason only, Cloud choses to trust him. For now. He does need to escape, and they are wasting time.

Nostrils flaring, he glances to the door, and saunters out. "Come." The SOLDIER blinks, confused.

"Wha - the exit's this way."

"No, it's not."

He can smell the wind, hear the birds outside... "This way." He insists quietly, not waiting to see if the man follows. It's not his problem.

He strides through the lab uncaring, until they come to their first obstacle - alarms flashing, soldiers running towards them. He simply smirks. It is nothing to slip through their ranks and render them senseless, taking the gun from one of them, and making short work of the rest.

"Holy shit." Zack, apparently, is still following him. "I never knew you were such a good marksman."

Cloud makes no comment - they are strangers, so it is no concern of his what this man does and does not know. He's unsure why the man is convinced they know one another, but then, being in... Hojo's care has led many to strange coping methods before. He should know. No one has been under the man's knife more.

Grimacing, Cloud grips his left arm tightly.

"Come," He mutters, before continuing on.

* * *

Within the hour, they've escaped, making their run for it through the countryside. Cloud's not entirely sure where they are, but he has some idea. The western continent, north of the Nibel Mountain range. Dragon country. He's not too concerned - in fact, the terrain and the friendliness of the wildlife will make chasing after them harder. Cloud smiles.

"That's a little disturbing."

The smile vanishes. Cloud glances up through half lidded eyes at his tag along, frowning mildly. The SOLDIER has clearly healed, and appears to be fine, sitting across from Cloud at the fire.

"So, how're you feeling now? Brain juices flowing better?"

The frown becomes a scowl. This, again. The man will not shut up. "I'm afraid I'm no more knowledgable of you now than before."

That prompts a sigh. "Well... what do you know?"

"I'm not one to share much with others - even those I do know."

"Humor me." The man looks truly concerned, less carefree than earlier. Cloud still loathes the idea of giving him anything but...

(he can be trusted he can I promise)

... but there seems to be no risk to it. He's not exactly in a position to harm Cloud in any way.

"Hmm. Fine."

"Really?" Grinning, the man fidgets a bit, clearly thinking. "Okay... um... where are you from?"

"Nibelheim, I suppose." That was close enough.

"Alright, good! Um... your name?"

What was this? Frowning, he says, "Cloud Strife."

"Good, good! Trade or occupation?"

The frown deepens, eyes darkening. "... I have none."

"Come on, give me something."

Cloud turns away. "Cease meddling."

"Ugh, fine. Um... family?"

His eyes flash. "I have none."

"Friends?" He says nothing - that's answer enough. "Anyone?"

His eyes lower, finally. "No one."

"That's not true." Zack's gaze is soft, pitying, and it turns his stomach. "I mean... you have Vincent, don't you?"

Pain - pain, agony, oh his head (why why does this have to have happened WHY )

"Cloud? Cloud, are you - CLOUD!"

* * *

(it's your fault, you know.)

( your nothing like him . )

* * *

The next morning, Cloud wakes first. He frowns at Zack, though he's also irritated at himself. Someone should have stayed up to keep watch. He doesn't remember going to sleep... clearly, Zack's questioning had eventually annoyed him enough that he lulled off. Cloud won't allow it to happen again.

He nudges the boy, who wakes with SOLDIER like reflexes. Cloud expected it, and is fast enough to be halfway across the field before he can be touched.

"Wha - who's there?"

"We need to move." Cloud says firmly. "We cannot linger."

Zack blinks, gaze clearly, before nodding. Something in his gaze makes Cloud uneasy, but he doesn't voice his concern. The boy's thoughts are not his worry.

They haven't any supplies to pack, so getting ready to leave is quick enough. Cloud knows they'll have to do something soon; though he may be impervious to such worries, Zack will need food and water soon. Even SOLDIERs had limits. That meant finding civilization, which meant risking Shinra.

These worries continued to roll around in his mind for a bit, until Zack broke the silence.

"So..." The man hesitates, rubbing the back of his head. "Uh... how old are you?"

A pointed gaze is his answer. "What do you hope to gain by this?"

"Uh... just... trying to learn more about my new buddy, yeah?" Hardly. The man's a bad liar, but Cloud won't call him on it just yet. He turns his gaze ahead to the snow.

"Older than you'd believe."

Zack hums at that, arms crossed. He shivers a little. "Aren't you cold?"

"No." He says simply. He sees no reason for explanations.

For a while it's quiet again, and just when Cloud thinks the boy has given up, Zack speaks again. "So, why were you in there?"

Turning his head, Cloud cocks an eyebrow. "In the lab." Zack continues. "I got caught trying to defect, what about you?" Another lie, clearly, but Cloud bites his tongue. He will get to the root of the boy's strange behavoir eventually.

"I..." Suddenly his head is pounding. He thinks back to how he'd been recaptured, trying to... "I was in Midgar." Yes, that was it. He'd transformed in a fight and Shinra had surrounded him. How long ago was it? He wasn't sure how long Hojo had kept him this time, but clearly it hadn't been years, like before.

"Yeah?"

Clearly, Zack was looking for more - the blone frowns. "Are you always so inquisitive?"

"Only when I'm bored."

That manages to bring a small smile to Cloud's face, which makes Zack full on grin. "Hey! I made you laugh!"

"I heard nothing."

"That was a Cloud laugh. Low key."

He smirks again, shaking his head. For a while, the crack of snow beneath their boots is the only sound. "Hey... look, I know this is... not good stuff, but... it's really important. I wouldn't ask otherwise."

Sighing Cloud nods. "Ask your questions." They've nothing better to do than prod his old wounds, after all.

"How long were you captive?"

He tries to remember - it hurts. Gods, what had Hojo done to him this time? What more monstrosities could he commit... how much humanity did he have left? "I - don't know." He glances sideways. "And you?"

Zack answers quickly. "Four days." He says. "I was captured with a few others... but Hojo didn't really care about me. Locked me up, threw away the key, that sort of thing."

"Others..." He frowns. Was this the answer? Was Zack seeking the ones he'd been captured with, and mistakenly taken Cloud for one of his companions? Perhaps the boy was wrong to think Hojo had left him be... perhaps he was in denial? But, he did look to be in good condition for someone who had survived Hojo's loving care.

"Yeah." He says nothing more, and for the moment, Cloud chooses not to pry.

* * *

_ Knives, knives and needles, blood and curdling screams - a woman, crying, a man laughing, always laughing... _

He awakens sharply, to another's hands on him and he keens, shivering and shoving, away, hands moving for his gun - it's not on his waist - the hands leave, a voice breaks through -

"Cloud, it's me, it's alright!" His gaze clears. the brunette - Zack. He kneels nearby, hands up in surrender. The gun Cloud took from the Shinra base is on the ground near him safely out of reach.

"You - you should not do that." Out of breath, the man struggles to pull himself together. "It is not safe."

"I was sure to disarm you!"

Cloud's gaze darkens. "I am never fully disarmed." Still shaken, he stands, and with a few quick leaps, takes to the trees. Dimly, he hears Zack's alarmed "Holy shit!", but he's too out of it to even smile. He's... distance, outside himself, huddling in the tree, trying to piece himself back together. He's safer up here. It's... better.

He goes back to sleep, and the next time he dreams, he wakes up alone. He wakes caught in a half vocalized scream, mouth gaping, eyes wet. Trembling hands rise to his face and he keens, trying to shake it off.

He... he... he failed her... he failed...

(failed who?? which one are you ?? ?)

Failed to save her... his darling... he pictures her in his mind and... and

(he can't see her - just a blurry memory [image] in the distance, a voice [ a story ] he can't remember)

it hurts, to remember how far he's fallen.

"Cloud?"

Clutching himself, the blonde quiets, still shivering and crying, but quietly.

"Cloud... are you okay?"

No. No, of course not. He's not okay, never has been not since -

(did it happen to you didithappentoyou)

that day, that awful day when he

(she she she she she _shesheshe_ )

died.

* * *

"What did they do to you?"

Cloud almost laughs - almost - at the sheer audacity.

"You aren't subtle, are you?"

"Subtle as a train, my boss says." The boy grins like he's proud. Cloud tries to remember himself at that age, and aches. Zack's look softens. "Do you... remember?" He continues. "It might help us figure out what's going on."

He knows Zack thinks something's "going on" - in that, clearly he thinks Cloud is one of his companions, whose simply forgotten him. Much more likely, Zack was one of Hojo's victims, and his friends were killed in the experiments. He is simply latching onto Cloud as a way of coping with the loss. It is with that understanding in mind that Cloud patiently, if not always happily, allows these conversations.

They are about a day's travel away from the nearest town, and once there, Cloud will find a way to set the boy up safely with a place to stay, and move on alone. Until then...

"I am - unsure." He begins. "This time, I mean."

"This time?" Zack blinks. "You were captured before?"

Ugh. He should not have been so foolish as to let that slip. This is a conversation he surely doesn't want to have. "Yes. For a long time." He says harshly, implying that that is the end of it.

"Well... do you have any idea?" Zack tries again. "Feel different? Look different?"

Cloud actually tries to think on it. While most of this is just enabling the boy's fantasy, he probably should have considered earlier what Hojo may have done. He lifts his arms, staring at himself as a mystery he will never quiet solve.

"My arm..." He manages. "It..." He doesn't really want to say, so he shifts gears. "Little feels changed. Physically, I am the same." But for the fact that for some reason, Hojo removed the device he'd placed on Cloud's arm all those years ago. Nothing else had changed. Was that it? He just wanted to retrieve that device?

"Huh." Zack seems put out, disappointed by the facts, but that's understandable. He's looking for proof that Cloud is really his deceased friend, and he won't find it. He feels bad for the boy, but he can't change reality.

If only he could...

"Then..." Zack starts again. "What did he do the first time?"

Cloud starts. Eyes lifting, he frowns. To answer or not? He... finds himself not wanting to disappoint the youth. So with a sigh, he says as little as he can. "I was human, once. Hojo made me something else."

"Not human?" Eyes bulging, Zack gawks. Cloud bristles under the attention.

"Yes. In some ways like a SOLDIER, but on an entirely different level."

"Did it - hurt?" Cloud just glares. "Yeah, guess that goes without saying. How did you survive it?"

Throat tight, he says, "I am a survivor. For all that I have failed, I have at least managed to survive."

"You're strong." Cloud nods in acknowledgement. This much is true - physically and mentally, he has survived, going past those boundaries where others would have snapped. "Huh."

Apparently, the man is done for the day, for he falls silent, thoughtful and quiet in the firelight.

 


	16. Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man this one... ouch. but the super huge angst is over for a while... muahaha. expect more soon, and some comedy and romance to lighten the mood a bit c:

Smoke on the horizon.

"We have to keep moving."

"What -?" Zack's gaze follows Cloud's, his eyes narrowing in realization. "Ah, shit."

They're being followed. Or, more correctly, they've been found.

* * *

Returning to civilization is no longer an option. By the third day of escape, the days of campfires and semi-friendly conversation are behind them. This is survival. Moving in silence and speed, keeping to the shadows, watching and listening as Shinra - Hojo's - men circle round them. The enemy comes close, but never quite close enough. Cloud and Zack just manage to slip past them.

It won't continue for long, though. Cloud knows well enough. The kid is tiring, and as a human, he has needs that aren't being met. Cloud - however, he is fine.

"You aren't fine." Zack, huffing and half leaning over, insists. They'd been discussing how to meet the man's physical needs, only for the brunette to interrupt. "You need food too!"

"I do not eat." Cloud insists, which results in a wry laugh, tired and ornery, from the other.

"Then explain how you've become so much slower lately. And I know your as dizzy as I am, I saw you trip yesterday."

It's true... he hates to admit it but it is. Has Hojo done something to him? Weakened his resistance, his endurance? For what possible reason? Frowning, the blonde gives a slow nod.

"Perhaps... but it does not matter. At the moment, we haven't the luxury of rest."

"It's not gonna be a luxury soon." Zack insists, stumbling over. Just then, voices come over the ridge. The conversation is forgotten, as both military men take to the shadows, convering solely with eyes and body movements.

Hours later, much further away, Zack asks Cloud about it. "You former military?" He asks with a huff, out of breath. "Sure act like it."

He murmurs in acknowledgement. At Zack's insistent stare, the man sighs. "Former Shinra."

"What branch?"

For a moment, he hesitates. Finally, Cloud says, "Turk."

That manages to shock the boy into an hour's blessed silence.

* * *

He's no longer sure where they are. Days ago, he could read the signs, feel the air, notice the scenery and give a general idea. Now? His senses are deteriorating. It's a deserted wasteland, somewhere on the continent, and Cloud hasn't a clue.

They are running out of time.

Both of them are weakening, and with no plan on how to escape and the enemy closing in, it's only a matter of time. Last minute efforts and final plans race through Cloud's head. At least, the boy should live.

But he's run out of ammo, and as he is now, Cloud doubts he has the strength to transform. He can't even feel that power within him... had Hojo done something? So much feels changed since those days... Cloud hadn't admitted it to Zack, but ever since, he does not feel like himself.

It doesn't matter. If they don't find a way out of this mess, none of it will matter soon.

* * *

They take him by surprise.

Cloud is utterly ashamed; that's all he can think as blood and bile erupt from his throat. A storm of bullets across his chest, knees collapsing beneath him, vision blurring...

He was never this weak before, this human. What... had Hojo done...?

( stop it stop it make it all stop )

There's a voice in his head, a voice crying, and if he thinks hard on it, Cloud realizes it has been there since the escape. He is used to voices. There have been the demons, the ghosts of his past... so many voices. This one is new. It is no one he recognizes.

"Cloud!" Zack is fighting still, sword in hand, and Cloud hears the echo of bullet fire, the clash of steel, as he struggles to rise onto his elbows. The movement sends searing pain through him and more blood bursts from his mouth. "Stay down okay! Stay down!"

He can do nothing else. Gasping for breath, he presses on the wounds, feeling them healing already, pressing the bullets free. But not fast enough. He's too weak... famished and tired... his body just won't heal enough.

Cloud manages to flip over, to turn enough to see the clash behind him. Gods... his eyes widen. There's so many. Hojo must've emptied his lab of guards and hired guns. Why? What did an old failed experiment and one SOLDIER matter so?

Perhaps it was simply an old grudge, still held against him... bitter regret rises up his throat with the blood. This is his fault then. His sin. I'm so sorry Zack.

His vision begins to darken and fade, for a moment - and when it clears, all he can see is red.

It's not blood. It's cloth. A long fluttering cape, which flurs and swishes as the man wearing it moves. One moment, he stands in front of Cloud, the next his gun is taking down soldier after soldier with practiced ease. There are others, he can hear new voices, new weapons entering the fray... but his gaze won't leave this one man.

(see? don't you remember)

His consciousness flutters, in and out. Gasping for breath. Everything is pain and thirst and hunger and he stares at this man who is a question he doesn't want answered.

(just admit it)

But he can't. No because the answer is worse than any pain he could ever feel, worse than any wound

(because that would mean you left her behind)

and he succumbs to unconsciousness.

* * *

Vincent hasn't left Cloud's side since they found him.

It makes Cid a little jealous, to be honest - and then, mad because he shouldn't be. Then again, it's not like he's jealous of the man's role, of his life, cause damn that would be petty. No, its the fact that he's the captain of the ship and they need him here at the helm, and since he's here he can't be there.

With Cloud.

_My..._

He's not sure its his place, anyway. The kid's not his. A blood connection doesn't mean ownership, or belonging. They barely know each other. Talked maybe a handful of times. His mother...

A new sharp pain hits his gut at the thought.

They don't know what's become of Jean Strife. Zack hadn't found her in the lab, and while he'd said Cloud had said she was dead, Zack had also admitted Cloud had been far from himself lately.

He'd been in Hojo's personal care for four days. Four days. Days of nonstop "research", experimenting, torture, and who knew what else...

It's no wonder the boy snapped under it all. Especially if something had really happened to his mother.

Cid feels bitter, just thinking about it. It's a selfish thought, that she and her - their - son had reentered his life, only for her to go and die and leave before he could see her again and ask her all these things rumbling around in his mind driving him nuts. Like it was her final prank on him. But obviously the woman never planned this, never wanted this, and if she really is gone...

Sighing, Cid steps away. He's practically useless as is, so he shouts a few directions and steps away from his post. They can manage without for a handful of hours.

Without thought, without direction, his feet take him to the hospital wing. He hesitates in the hallway, tired half lidded eyes glancing through the window. There he is - where he's been since Cloud was found.

They almost didn't find him. The blood trail dried up, the scent gone, and Vincent had been no closer to pinpointing their location without it. They'd been stuck, forced to basically guess at what base Hojo might've used, at where he might have a hidden one located, at what he might have done...

Until Sephiroth.

It had been Sephiroth, three days into their disappearance, who had had a breakthrough, one that was a great relief and utterly terrifying at the same time.

"I can sense him," He'd said. Clearly upset and unsure how to feel himself, the man had looked almost green in the face. "I - feel where he is."

They'd chase that feeling across the continent, until sure enough, they found Zack and Cloud facing down Shinra's men in the deserts outside Golden Saucer. Where they'd been or how they got there, the exhausted and ill men were unsure - Cloud, most of all.

He hadn't recognized a one of them.

Cid slumps against the glass wall, cursing the Gods and Shinra and all the fucked up shit in his life. He has a kid. A kid with amnesia caused by fucking trauma at the hands of one fucked up piece of shit excuse for a scientist.

There's not much Cid can do at this point about it. Save one thing. Save the thing he was brought in to do in the first place: kick Hojo's ass to the moon and back. He'd been reluctant about the whole thing at first, at rejoining Shinra even in pretense...

Now?

Now, Hojo had better watch his damn back. Highwind's coming.

* * *

There's a gold spark in his mind.

It was a distant, soft light at first. Like a faraway star. It had a taste, a depth, a - sensation of feeling, despite being made of nothing. Less than air. And he could follow it, feel it in the earth, and the closer they got, the larger, more powerful it was, until it rivaled the very sun in his mind.

All Sephiroth wants is to soak that damn light in, but he restrains himself.

He knows that this strange development is undoubtedly Hojo's doing. That makes him suspicious immediately. Hojo has no good or well meaning reasons for anything he does. Whatever this connection created between himself and Cloud... it can only be for ill.

Sephiroth wonders, a little, what it feels like from the other side. If Cloud can sense him as well, is as drawn to him as he is to the blonde. And he wonders if it feels as... good. Like being complete. Broken pieces made whole. That makes him doubly suspicious, that this actually feels pleasurable, instead of painful, is clearly a sign that the whole thing is some trap Hojo's designed for one reason or another.

Sighing, Sephiroth shakes his head, and gives in to the desire. He does at least want to see how the man is doing. They've only known one another for a short while, but... he can admit to being invested in the other. In being - concerned. He... has few friends. Sephiroth would like to think he might one day count Cloud among them.

He's - fascinating. Powerful, smart, decent, warm hearted and compassionate. Sephiroth has known plenty of powerful and intelligent people, but few who also cared, were selfless and giving of themselves. Most of those people died or disappeared.

The fact that Cloud almost did the same is part of what drives Sephiroth to his bedside.

It's occupied, of course. The gunman, his - Mr. Valentine. Sephiroth clears his throat, realizing he may be unwanted, and moves to apologize before leaving.

"Stay," A deep, rumbling baritone bids him. Sephiroth hesistates, almost fidgeting, before giving a light sigh and stepping into the room. He sits across from the man, at the other chair.

It's not comfortable. Sephiroth is a large man, almost 6'4", and extremely muscular. He knows a lot of that is his enhancements and training, though apparently the height is genetic. Valentine is about 6'4" himself. But he's lithe and slender, so skinny he looks malnourished, with long thin limbs. He's clearly strong and muscular, but in a discrete way. Much less boorish than himself, Sephiroth thinks with a frown.

Still, he sits, the chair giving an unsettling groan as he does. Then a creak. Even Vincent cocks an eyebrow, a little concerned. Sephiroth ignores it.

"How is he?"

The man's eyes drop. "He is not himself." Concern is clear in his eyes, as well as... fear. Absolute terror. Clearly Valentine is shaken himself, and Sephiroth can see why - the boy he's fostered and cared for was taken by his mortal enemy and tortured. Anyone would be upset.

Realizing that, Sephiroth realizes he should also probably say something of it. "This is not your fault."

Vincent scowls and his gaze darkens. "It is undoubtedly my fault."

"That is incorrect." Sephiroth insists. "Hojo made his own choices. As did Cloud, as did we all. He knew the risks. He felt the battle was worth fighting."

"He knew nothing." Vincent spits. "Nothing of the horror of - this, not before," The man is shaking, a hand covering his face. "I failed him. I failed you both. I fail everyone... another sin..."

Failed... both?

Sephiroth falters, unable to speak for a moment. "You have clearly suffered much, and yet, you are still here. Cloud is as resilient as you, if not more so. He will come back to us."

He doesn't really know what else to say. There's so much he wants to say - but doesn't know how. So he simply stands, and moves swiftly, trying not to look like he's running away. The tears start falling down Vincent's face before Sephiroth even leaves the room.

* * *

He remembers... remembers the parents who died...

(no... i just never had a dad.)

Remembers... the scientist

(her face... i don't remember a face...)

Remembers... the monster who did this to him...

(i remember his face, because i saw him, i really knew him)

Remembers... his name...

(but what about his name? That's more important isn't it?)

Remembers... his mother...

(my mom... she... she was... )

"Cloud?"

Opens his eyes. They hurt. Bitter, crusty, sharp pain. Grunts to clear his throat. Everything is a wound, open and bleeding. The red eyed man is in front of him, he knows him, he knows -

(a basement a dream wasn't it or was it a )

"Are you alright?"

His gaze narrows, he scans the perimeter quickly, reaches for his gun. He... he sees the man, fully, for the first time. There's a claw on his arm.

"Another of Hojo's creations?" He asks, voice gruff and sore.

The man's gaze drifts to the gold claw. "Cloud... do you remember me?"

Another stranger claiming to be a friend? He almost laughs. Pain runs up his chest. "That claw. You received it from Hojo, didn't you?"

The stranger hesitates. "... yes. I told you that long ago."

No he didn't. They've never met before.

"Cloud..." Sighing, the man moves slightly closer. Cloud tenses. "I know - better than anyone - what you've been through. And I've... done many things trying to escape it, to cope with it. But you cannot remain this way. The danger is over, you must return to yourself."

"Cease speaking as if you know me."

The man's gaze narrows. "Your speech pattern... even that is different."

Annoyed, Cloud moves to sit up, and when the man reaches to touch him, he strikes. Takes his arm and presses the elbow straight, moves to pin it behind his back - the stranger breaks the grip. Breaks it the only way he can, by letting his own elbow snap, fighting back against the blonde's arms.

Shocked, Cloud is taken off guard when two strong arms wrap around him. He struggles expecting an attack, expecting to be throttled, hurt, something -

"Cloud. Cloud!" The man pulls himself closer - hugs him. Holds him tight, firmly, even as he fights, even as he struggles. "Please. You're safe now. Please, come back."

He screams - fights for all he's worth, fights and kicks and curses until he cries. The man won't let go. Even with an elbow popped out of place, inhumane strength keeps Cloud bound, as the man speaks over his screams.

"I'm so sorry, so sorry -"

"SHUT UP! LET ME GO!"

"Cloud, please forgive me, please come back -"

He screams, and screams, blood escaping his wounds again. Vincent won't let go - why won't he just let go?

(his name you know his name, see?)

"When you were younger..." The man, he sounds so emotional, so bitter and broken, tears falling down his own face. "When you were a child, nothing felt worse than knowing you were in pain and that I could not help. The isolation, being trapped down there... it never hurt until I could hear you crying for help and I couldn't answer. Knowing others were hurting you, and I couldn't stop them..."

"I was useless, worse than that, until you set me free. I owed you such a debt - and I swore then that I would never let your cries go unanswered. Never again. I will be there to protect you, Cloud I swear it."

"STOP! STOP IT! LET - ME - ughh hhuh - me - _hack_ -"

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I didn't find you sooner, that I did not stop him, but I swear, I will always come for you. I will always protect you. You're safe."

Gasping for breath. Gasping, and shattered, and shivering in Vincent's arms. It's long minutes before he can do anything but shake. He's wounded, broken, and utterly spent.

"I think..." Cloud mutters tiredly. "I think you did save me." Vincent's gaze, weary and red from crying, meets Cloud's. "Down there. He kept taunting me, and h - hurting me... and I... god I just wanted it to stop. I wasn't strong enough. But I think - I convinced myself I was you. Because you were strong enough. Y - you always amazed me, that you'd survived so much, for so long - and I think, I tried to borrow that strength from you."

"It's yours to have." Vincent murmurs. "Always."

 


	17. One Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story is now involving even more plot and characters, as you'll soon see. I like my fanfictions like I like my videos games: long and complicated!

There's a knock at the door. Another, and another. If he ignores them long enough, they'll go away.

"Cloud, are you in there?" Tifa's concerned voice comes through, muffled by the door. "I've got food! ... I'll leave it out here okay?" There's a longer pause, before her shadow moves, and the tell tale clack of shoes on metal announces her departure.

Cloud only relaxes once he's sure she's gone.

He's sitting in the dark on his bed, curled up against the headboard with his head between his knees. The only sound is the dull roar of distance engines, the rush of the wind outside against the wings of the plane. It's mostly quiet. He can hear more things than most, but they're distant background noise compared to the noise in his head.

He sits there, quiet, motionless. But he doesn't close his eyes... he'd rather not see what's there.

Sighing, the young man curls in on himself further, trying to avoid tears. He can't count the amount of times he's cried since he "woke up". Every time a memory hits him, every time he so much as blinks, or thinks - its like the events of the last week are on HD replay in his head, constantly screaming in his ear, and he just can't shut it off.

Cloud's brains are scrambled eggs. Everything is fucked up. He remembers Nibelheim, looking for his mom, entering the house - she was there, and so was somebody else, and ... and something ? something happened - then the darkness came, and with that came pain and his voice and all the screaming -

Cloud expels breath sharply, shutting the thoughts out.

They come and go, in and out of order, some blurry and vague, others all too sharp and perfectly remembered. He can't stop thinking about it. Nothing is enough of a distraction. It's not like he wants to focus on it, not like he wants to keep it on replay in his mind...

He just can't escape it.

And everytime he does, for just a moment, he sees her. His mother's face. Her laugh, her smile. Her tears and blood on the carpet. And that is worse than any memory or agony he could face, the idea that that monster still has his mom, that he left her behind -

That he forgot her.

"Fuck," Grabbing and tearing at his hair, Cloud twists, moving into an uncomfortable position without even thinking.

Knock at the door. Unable to bear it, Cloud grabs a pillow off the bed and throws it at the door. "LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!"

It hits the door, and with that thud, he snaps out of it, and gasps. "I - sorry, I'm..." He doesn't know what to say, so he falls silent, waiting to see if the person will just leave or get angry. Depends on who it is.

There's some noise outside, some shuffling. Then, the door slides open.

"Hi," Aerith says with a small smile.

Cloud blinks, cheeks tear stained, eyes red, mouth agape.

The girl walks in all smiles like he hadn't just cussed her out. In her hands is the dinner tray Tifa left behind. She kicks the door closed with her foot, before moving forward and setting the tray on the bed. With no concern at all, she sits down on the bed, legs swinging childlishly.

"Hungry?" She asks. At the question, she reaches out and takes a bit of his food for herself, just a nibble. Cloud stares.

"... no." He manages, a moment later. "Help yourself."

She shrugs, then digs in, clearly hungrier than Cloud's felt in days. He watches without feeling, curled up on the bed, just slightly perplexed as to the girl's behavior and reason for being around.

"Did you need something?" He continues a moment later.

Wiping at her mouth, Aerith shakes her head. "No. Well, maybe. If you're up to it." She smiles a little, but... it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "So, you know we chased you and Zack everywhere, right?" The reminder is like adding kindling to the fire. He pulls in on himself. "Well, the ship ran right out of gas, so we had to park it after we finally found you. Cid took us to the nearest place to get refilled, and guess what?" She beams, smiling. "It's the Golden Saucer! Seriously, I never thought I'd have the chance to go. Can you believe it?"

He hears the words like a distant dream, like something happening to someone else. The person having this conversation can't be him... it's so unlike his reality as it was, as it has been...

"Hey," A face is suddenly in his, two hands reaching almost to cup his face, but stopping just before touching him. "Don't get lost now, okay?"

He blinks, surprised, and backs away. Aerith gets out of his space, but doesn't leave, kneeling on the bed. Cloud just... stares. She's an anomaly he can't comprehend; where everyone else has been avoiding him or leaving him alone she is simply here.

Her eyes grow a little sad, he thinks. Her head tilts. Slowly, her gaze drifts downward. "I have one of those." She points to his arm; glancing down, Cloud sees the marks in his elbow, where repeated and often ungentle use of a syringe had left a myriad of scars. "Yours will heal up, I bet." Then, she lifts her arm, revealing the inside of her elbow, where simliar marks from years before remain.

Cloud's throat is so tight it hurts to speak. "... you?"

A slow nod. "Yeah," Her smile is pained, anguished even. "Me." Then she chuckles. "You, me, Sephiroth, Vincent, Nanaki... we could start a support group. 'People Hojo has Fucked Over'. It's a surprisingly large group."

"Not so surprising." He manages. Not as surprising as this girl, apparently.

After a moment's hesitation, she speaks again. "I can leave if you want. I just know... when I got out, I didn't want to be alone. Not really. I just... didn't know how to ask."

Ouch. He stiffens, not meaning to, hit by the truth of her words. It's like he can barely speak to anyone. Admitting anything... saying anything... it's too hard. Not when they always look at him with that pity, that horror, when they stumble and fumble around him as if he's made of glass...

"So. Anyway." The girl attempts to discreetly wipe at her eyes, then forces a smile on her face. "I thought we might go out tonight! A date at the Golden Saucer! A good distraction, don't you think?"

He realizes then, that he's not the only one suffering. Of course, he knew that logically, but it's a different thing to see. To see a teenage girl's shoulders stiff and trembling, her eyes red from crying, a fake smile on her face, - trying to comfort him. When he is the living reminder of what she'd already been through - a reminder that the man who did it is still out there.

Vincent... Sephiroth... how must they feel?

But he can't think about it. Cloud can barely process his own pain, he can't handle anything else. But this... maybe this...

"Okay." He says. "Just don't expect good company."

The smile he gets in return is big and genuine. "I already have it." Aerith insists.

* * *

Cloud Strife has never been on a date with a girl, but he suddenly has newfound respect for everyone attracted to them if they're all like Aerith Gainsborough.

Once she got through her nerves and reservations in speaking to him about it, it was like their previous conversation never happened. Aerith was a bubbly, fun loving girl who didn't know how to take no for an answer. It was like he never spoke at all. She wanted to do absolutely everything there was to do at the Golden Saucer, and nothing Cloud said would change her mind.

"That was amazing!"

Cloud, still reeling a little from the ride, grabs at his stomach. "If you say so," He says, green at the gills.

"Oh man, you look awful!" The giggles that prompts makes him frown petulantly, but that only has Aerith laughing harder. "Alright, alright, I've tortured you enough. How about... just one more?"

"Oh god," Cloud laughs outright, winded already. "It's been 'one more' for an hour!" But he can't resist that girlish little smile, the childish way she puts her arms in front of her pleadingly. The manipulative sneak. "Fine, which one?"

Grinning she grabs his hand, and he holds on for dear life. Not for any rides, not for any reason he's said aloud... but she knows, and she grips him like a lifeline.

Aerith drags him across the park, which they've seen most of in the last few hours, to the biggest ride at the Golden Saucer. Cloud's eyes are like saucers as he stares up at the thing, mouth dropping.

"Nope."

"Oh, come on!" Aerith pouts. "It's got to be an amazing view!"

"You know what's amazing?" Cloud says dryly. "The view from here, firmly on the ground."

"You really don't like heights, huh?" Aerith shakes her head a little, like she's trying to understand it. But before he can retort, her eyes catch sight of something, and she leans around to wave at someone. "It's okay! If you fall from the ride, Sephiroth can catch you!"

Cloud's gut falls to his feet. A cold sweat breaks out over his head as he turns, slowly, to see just the man walking over towards them.

"S - Sephiroth?" Blushing at the fact he just goddamned stuttered, Cloud clears his throat and tries to pretend it never happened. "What are you doing here?" This is not what he wanted the man to see. Ever. He's in some of his casual clothes, a Placebo band tee shirt and grease covered jeans, holding a giant chocobo plush under one arm and a bag of half eaten cotton candy in his other hand. If he ever looked more the country bumpkin...

"Cloud." The man says his name like it's sin, of course. Cloud flushes. "I am... surprised to see you here."

"We decided to have some fun." Aerith answers for him. Just then the first open gondola swings down from the enormous cart ride around the park, and Aerith beams. "We can talk about it on the ride!"

"What - no, Aerith, I mean it - sERIOUSLY WOMAN!"

Too late. He's shoved in, with a confused and bemused Sephiroth, and Aerith shuts the door with a clank behind him.

Holy shit. This is awful on so many levels. The cart moves with a groan and he groans with it, already lurching from the movement. He collapses onto the nearest bench, and quickly feels a flush growing over his face.

It's a small gondola to begin with. Now, with three people, it's crowded. With one of those people taller than six foot and built like a tank, they are practically sardines. Cloud's legs are tangled up with Sephiroth's and Aerith is squished in a corner, but Cloud doesn't feel bad about that because this is all her fault.

"Are you happy?" Trying to draw his legs up onto the bench, Cloud turns to frown at her.

"Very!"

"Good. I'm tossing you out the door."

"Somehow, I don't think Zackary would appreciate that."

The name is a bucket of water over his head. Zack, standing in front of him, defending his life... Zack, bleeding and shouting for him to stay down... hours of the man probing his mind, seeing the broken pieces and trying to put them together despite Cloud fighting against him... Zack... Zack...

"Cloud, breathe!"

At the order, he takes a deep, deep breath, realizing for the first time that he is curled into his knees and pulling his hair out. The breath turns to hyperventalating, which the voice quickly informs him is bad. "Breathe with me... in, and out..."

It takes a few minutes for the white noise to fade and the static in his brain to clear out. When it does, Cloud is winded, shaken, and ashamed. He avoids everyone's eyes, not that that lasts for long. In just a minute, Aerith is simply kneeling in front of him.

"I'm sorry," She puts a hand on his knee, and suddenly, he feels a lot better. "Maybe we should go back to the ship?"

He shakes his head, slowly. "I'm alright... I feel better here." It was the truth. Sitting in that room... being around everyone else... he doesn't want that right now.

But damn... if he doesn't feel guilty now... on a "date" with Zack's girl, while the man is in the hospital because of what he did for Cloud...

"Stop it."

Aerith's gentle smack to his head makes Cloud chuckle. "What? I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking something I can tell." She says as she takes her seat again.

"Oh I'm not allowed to think now?"

"Nope." Aerith grins, shaking her head. "No thinking. Just enjoy the ride." Just then, a thunderous boom echoes in the distant. Cloud jolts, terrified for half a moment, until Aerith gasps in delight. "Fireworks!"

Of course. It's a theme park. Ashamed again, Cloud flushes and hopes no one noticed his blunder. Luckily, all the attention is quickly on Aerith. "Where are they?" Smushing her face to the window, eyes wide in delight, she grins as she tries to seek out the source of the sound. "There!" She's half plastered to the glass. "Aw, they're really far off in the corner. I can't see them from here!" Turning, she glances around the room... and her eyes settle on Sephiroth.

The man blinks like a deer in headlights. "... Yes?"

"Come on, scooch up!" She insists.

"Where?" Sephiroth scoffs. "Do you want the gondola to flip over?"

"We'll be fine."

"We, who?" Cloud tries to say, but it's futile. She has his hand and is dragging him to the other bench, where apparrently the view is better. But there's no room on the bench, there's just Sephiroth's lap, which the girl apparently has no problem just plopping into.

She pulls Cloud along, and the man is forced to settle on Sephiroth's left thigh. Flushing brightly, he tries to keep his weight on his feet, to avoid being a burden, and leans as far forward as possible. Aerith has none of these quibbles. She pulls up on the window, looking out, Sephiroth's arm trapped between her and the wall.

"Amazing..." She gasps. "I've never seen them before..."

For a moment, the blond is distracted. They are beautiful... myriad colors flashing in bright bursts against the night sky. "Me, neither." He admits.

"Then you should get a better look." A smooth voice at his ear says. Then, an arm gently moves around his torso, pulling him further onto Sephiroth's lap, next to Aerith, where the window is easier to see.

Cloud is as red as the cherry red fireworks bursting in the sky. His heartbeat, he thinks, might be just as loud, too.

He doesn't say a word though. Doesn't freak out about the arm still holding him, the lap he's sitting in, the soft breaths on his ear. Cloud forces himself to be stock still, watching the fireworks, with Aerith gasping beside him.

"I'm so glad I got to do this..." She says, smiling softly. "I never imagined, growing up under the plate, I'd get to see this much of the world..."

"Perhaps you'll be able to see more." Sephiroth says quietly. "Once this ordeal is over... you can travel freely."

"Yeah." The wistful tone of her voice strikes Cloud's heart. He turns to look at her, face lit by the fireworks, smile soft and hopeful. "I'll come back..." She says. "I'll come back, when it's all over."

They sit together, the three of them, comfortable and quiet, until the show is done.

* * *

It's near to three am when Cloud finds the courage to show up at Zack's room.

He's been in the hospital ward since they boarded the ship. Cloud's not sure of the extent of it... but it's bad. Even for a SOLDIER. They'd been on the run and hounded for days, but it was right at the end there that did it. What blurry memories felt like minutes to Cloud, were actually hours. Hours that Zack stood and fought and defended him, against an onslaught of memories.

Much longer... and he wouldn't have made it.

Just the thought has Cloud clutching at his chest, reeling at the very thought of someone dying for him - let alone Zack. Zack Fair, all sunshine and brightness who in the few days Cloud's known him, has become someone he solidly trusts and believes in. That's no easy feat, for him. But the man oozes sincerity and generosity, and it almost killed him.

_My fault._

Hesitating at the door for long minutes, Cloud finally gives a sigh, quietly turns the nob, and walks in.

"Took you long enough."

He freezes. At that instant he does an about face, ready to run out - "Hey, hey! Is that any way to treat your camping buddy?"

Camping buddy. As if that's what they were, as if that's what had happened. When he could have said so much more, as if the weight of his near sacrifice didn't hang between them. Guilt turns Cloud's feet for him.

Zack looks better than expected. All bandaged up, head to toe, tied up to machines, and resting in bed with a weary expression, but... good. Not half dead. Still, by his tired eyes and the number of healing wounds on him, Cloud doubts he'll be leaping up for a while yet. Guilt gnaws at him, sharp and biting.

"None of that." The man's voice is a little raspy, weak. He smiles. "You can come sit down you know. Promise I won't bite."

Cloud, wringing his hands nervously, is powerless to do anything but what Zack asks. So he sits, stiff and nervous, hands clutched in front of him.

"Back to yourself?"

It takes a moment for Cloud to understand - then he nods. "Uh, yeah," He flushes with embarrassment. "Vincent, uhm... he figured it out."

"That's good."

Memories flash back to him, half remembered and vague, of all those nights he'd thought he was actually Vincent, and poor Zack had played along, all the while trying to lead him back in the right direction. Fresh guilt stabs him. "Sorry about that." Of course, that's the least of what he should be apologizing for. "S - Sorry, I..."

"Hey." A hand, trembling slightly, reaches out and grabs his. The grip is weaker than Cloud would like, much weaker. "None of this is your fault. One man's to blame and we both know who he is." Zack's frown deepens, and he squeezes reassuringly. "I just wish I'd gotten us out sooner. I'm the one who should be apologizing..."

"You just said it was one man's fault." Cloud manages, voice wobbly and wet. "You weren't talking about yourself were you?"

He chuckles. "No, I wasn't. You got me." Both manage a weak laugh.

"Still..." With his free hand, Cloud wipes at his eyes. "Thank you. For everything. I - I can't... even begin..."

"Then don't." Zack murmurs quietly. "You don't have to say anything."

He sniffles. He shakes. Zack's hand still holds his, firm yet gentle, even as his grip is weak with injury. All of it just crashes down on him and Cloud sobs, he shakes with the force of his cries, and falls against the edge of the hospital bed. Zack's other hand cradles his head, and he lets loose his agony until the bedsheets are soaking wet.

Once he's calmed, once he's cried himself hoarse and red eyed, chest aching from the gasping breaths, he sits up. "S - Sorry." Cloud wipes fiercely at his eyes.

"Don't be." Zack smiles again. "Like I said none of this is on you."

"Still, I..." He sniffles. "I..."

"Hey." The man manages to turn some, trying to face Cloud better. "If you feel like you owe me, you can do one thing. Kick Hojo's ass." The smile becomes a smirk, but it's sharper than normal. Cloud nods, feeling his own anger rising. "Better yet, I've got some presents for just that occasion."

Cloud blinks. Confused, he watches Zack gesture to the end of the bed. "Had the crew bring 'em from my room for me. I wanted to see you with them myself." Cloud stands and approaches the bench near the wall. It looks like a set of clothes, and...

"Your sword." Cloud gawks, recognizing the blade the man had carried throughout their ordeal. How he'd managed to snag it back from Hojo, Cloud couldn't guess.

"Yup! The Buster Sword. It's not gonna be much use to me for a while." Zack shrugs nonchalantly. "Yours all got left in Nibelheim, right? I'm sure you'll put it to good use. And those clothes are better armor than the civilian shit you've been wearing. You gotta dress for your job, right?"

Mouth dry, Cloud picks up the shirt, letting it unfold. "I'm not a SOLDIER."

Even after years of being jaded about Shinra, years after having given up his dream... something about this is still awe inspiring. There is still good here, still something worthwhile in SOLDIER and what it represents, especially when two of the best people Cloud's ever met are the top members. Flushing, the blond turns to protest, but Zack shakes his head.

"The hell you aren't." The man beams. "I heard you beat the General in combat - only people I've ever known who could come close to that were all SOLDIERs. You've got the Mako, too. And hey, we've all been fucked over by Hojo, so it seems to me you've got plenty in common with us."

The mention of Sephiroth has Cloud's stomach clenching tight. "... and what does he think about it?"

"Ask him yourself." The man winks. "I promise you won't be disappointed."

Unable to help himself, Cloud does just that. He leaves the room, moving in almost a panic to find Sephiroth. (He does not even realize, consciously, that he finds the man much too easily.) The General is still with Aerith, sitting up talking in the cafeteria on the second floor.

Cloud walks right up to Sephiroth, too emotional, too focused to do anything else. He hardly notices what's going on around him. "You..." He gestures with the uniform, held in one hand, tight in a bunched fist. The sword is held in the other. "Are you..." Struggling for the words, Cloud stares in shock at the thing. "Are you okay with this?"

Sephiroth stands. It's a movement that seems slower and more graceful than ever. Cloud waits with baited breath as the man approaches, long legs tapping on the tile. He stops, half lidded eyes glance down at the clothes. "No." He says tersely. Before Cloud's stomach can drop out of the airship under him, the man continues. "This is a pair of Zack's old 2nd class fatigues." His gaze meets Cloud's. "You are suited to no less than 1st."

The man leaves. In his stunned shocked silence, Cloud doesn't even think to move. So he's still standing there when the man returns with what can only be one of his own 1st class uniforms.

"You... don't even wear these." Cloud insists. The man chuckles at that.

"I used to, quite often." Sephiroth says. "Sometimes I still work out in them."

"Hey," Aerith, no longer content to be ignored, stands and runs over. "Can I get one too?"

"You are not SOLDIER."

"Cloud's not either!" The girl about pouts, arms crossed. "What, I can't join the secret boys only club?"

"It is not a club." Sephiroth sighs, rolling his eyes. "And the gender restrictions are an archaic and arbitrary guideline inforced by the late President Shinra, and in no way reflect upon SOLDIERs values or beliefs."

"So I get to be a SOLDIER too right?" Aerith lifts one arm, squeezing her bicep. "I was experimented on, you know. And I bet I'm better with materia than any of your boys!"

Sephiroth sighs fondly, exasperatedly, and Cloud shakes the stiffness from his limbs. Remembering himself, he bows low, red faced and stuttering. "T - Thank you!" When he stands back up, his heart skips a beat to see Sephiroth smiling.

"No," The man insists. "Thank you."

* * *

It has been more than a week since Jean Strife has had any company - so it is easy to notice when that changes.

Her eyes snap open. Years of living as a warrior and soldier have her senses trained, honed to a sharp edge. Someone is in the room with her. Her "prison" isn't bad as far as cages go, it's basically a crappy one room motel, with someone shoving a plate of food in a few times a day. She hasn't seen her captor since the first day, and figures that she's not useful as anything other than leverage. No questioning, no visitations, no moving around base. They're just keeping her, an item stocked on the shelf.

No one has been allowed in. So, immediately her curiosity is peaked. She feigns sleep, staying stock still as she listens to the increasingly odd sounds.

THUD. "Shush! Don't wake it!" THUD, THUD. "I - I'm sorry!" "You're useless!" "N - No I'm not!"

The sounds... the voices... they're... childish. Horror rises in her at the thought, and unbidden, she rises to her feet, and flicks on the light switch.

Three bright eyed children sit kneeling on the floor, staring in awe and horror at her. Oh, gods. They're kids. Five at the oldest, scrawny and clearly terrified as they stare at her.

"We just wanted to see!" One shouts in defense, the most afraid, already shaking.

"We didn't do anything wrong!" The second voice is firm, anger, and from the shortest of the three.

The third is absolutely silent, not afraid, but refusing to meet her eyes, either.

Three children... all with silver hair, and the same bright green mako eyes her own son has. Jean's heart stops in her chest. Slowly, she kneels, staying where she is.

"Are you boys lost?" She asks. "I'm not angry. I was just surprised, that's all." They seem surprised at that, and as one three sets of eyes meet hers.

By the gods, they're so young. She can't think of what they might be doing in this place or she'll lose her temper. Then, she remembers her half eaten plate from earlier, still on the table. Slowly, carefully, she stands, and gestures to it.

"Hungry?" She asks. All three eyes lit up, and in no time the boys are sitting with her at the table, finishing her food for her. For a minute, she's patient, content to watch them.

"So, what are you three doing sneaking around past your bedtimes?"

The crybaby looks at her. "What's a bedtimes?"

"It's bedtime, stupid!" The shortest one yells. Then, slightly embarrassed, he turns to her. "... yeah, what is it?"

These children - they're precocious. So mature, and smart for their age. But emotionally... clearly they've had no love or support here. No surprise, given the location. She could just about wring the necks of every employee here, if she could just get the fuck out...

"Nevermind." She says, leaning forward. "What about names? You have those, right?"

They glance at one another, hesitating for just a moment.

"Kadaj," Says the short one.

"Loz," the crybaby.

And finally, "Yazoo," the quiet child.

She smiles encouragingly. "I'm Jean. But you can call me..."

"Mother?" Loz about shouts in excitement. "Are you mother?"

It takes her by surprise, but the hope and sheer joy in their eyes melts her doubts. "Yes," She smiles. "Call me mom."


	18. Midgar Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beginning of the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, it's been a while! I was working a job that was like 60 hours a week so I had... no personal life, or energy of any kind. Now I have a new job with normal hours, so I'm writing again! Yaay! I feel like this chapter is pretty short, but it's been a while, and a lot is starting to go off in this one, so I thought I'd leave it here. More to come soon!

“Alright, right foot forward.  Good, keep your weight on your back leg.  Not you, Aerith, your stance is gonna be a little different.”

The girl, dressed in the same SOLDIER 1st class clothes that Cloud is, grins at her partner.  “It’s okay, I’ve got this.”  Wheeling the pole from behind her head, she steps forward with a cheer, jabbing at an invisible enemy.  “First female SOLDIER!  Suck it Shinra!”

In spite of himself, Cloud finds he’s laughing.  Which is funny, since he’s been barely able to smile for days.

“There he is,” The man turns his head to face Zack, who is currently guiding them while seated in a wheelchair.  His smile is hopeful, but tense.  “Now, come on, we should work on a few katas at least.  That sword’s gonna be a lot heavier than what you’re used to.”

“No kidding.”  Cloud chuckles, moving it in front of him – Zack’s enormous Buster Blade.  Cloud’s always favored a larger sword, but none have been as heavy or well made as this.  He’s still not sure how he feels about being given the blade.  “You sure -?”

Two hands reach out and adjust Cloud’s hold on the handle.  “I’m sure,” Zack beams.  “Let’s get to it, before Xena Warrior Princess puts out somebody’s eye.”

The room is an enormous warehouse space in Cid Highwind’s ship, where usually supplies and equipment are stacked to the brim.  The space has been mostly cleared to allow for these training sessions, which for the last week have been about the only bright spot in Cloud’s life.

The rest of his days are spent waiting.  Waiting for word from Midgar, watching the news for signs of Hojo’s plans.  Waiting to hear from Nibelheim, about how repairs are going, and who the injured and deceased are.  Waiting to hear of any sign or hint of his mother’s whereabouts. 

He’s tired of waiting.

“Nice!”  Zack cheers after Cloud’s most recent move, which Aerith attempts to copy, but it isn’t really as effective with a staff.  The girl notices and pouts.

“This feels very sword oriented.”

“I promise, we’ll work on you next.”  Zack smiles.  “But Cloud’s sword is gonna be a huge adjustment.  I really want to be sure he’s ready.”

“He is ready.”

Cloud’s stomach propels into his throat, color flushing his cheeks.  But he tries to maintain a veneer of calm as he turns towards the door.  Clearly he failed – Aerith is grinning at him, a hand over her mouth.

  
Sephiroth strides into the room, a small smile on his face.  “You’ve quite improved.  I have stated before, you have a great deal of talent, and with proper training, you may exceed myself.”

Cloud blows that off.  “Yeah, right,” Still, the red in his cheeks is brighter.  “Any news?”

“Nothing new, as of yet.”  The man seems as irritated as Cloud is by that information.  “Mr. Highwind and his entourage have reached Midgar and already engaged with the press.  There is to be a conference later this week where he will be able to face Dr. Hojo and perhaps challenge him.”  He clears his throat.   “Other than that…”

  
Cloud understood.  His sword falls to his side.  “Right.”  Running a hand through his sweaty hair, Cloud suddenly feels a kind of tired that goes far deeper than sore muscles.

 

* * *

  

Midgar is exactly as he remembers it. 

The smell hits him first.  The condensed aroma of sweat, piss, oil, and soot all pouring out from the underbelly, so putrid he reels from it.  Even high in the air overhead, in one of his smaller ships, he can smell it.  And from there, he can see the dark towering buildings, lit by an eternal green fluorescent glow, ominous in their intensity.

The ship lands on a small helipad on the north side of the Shinra Building, next to a great entrance into the main laboratory.  Cid steps out half expecting to be shot, but somehow his boots make it to the ground with no problem.  There are armed men running out to meet them – Turks, for the most part, as well as some of the general guard – and Cid does not like the look on their faces.

He knows the first one vaguely, from years ago.  His brow furrows as he struggles to remember the name, but luckily he doesn’t have to.  “Director Tseng,” Shera murmurs in his ear as she steps down behind him.

“Captain,” The man shakes his hand, firm.  “It is truly good to see you.  We should talk, but not here.”  That is all the greeting he gets before he feels himself being pulled inside by the tide of soldiers and workers, as they cut off the reporters already swarming the path.  Shera’s just behind him, but Cid’s already lost track of Tseng, and as he turns to look for him, he notices someone.

In the distance, in the entrance to the building, he sees a silhouette, and the reflection of a pair of glasses.  Somehow, instinctively, he knows who the man is.  Their eyes meet, and the other smiles, before fading into the shadows.

A thought occurs to him suddenly.

“That fucker,”

“What?” 

Turning, he leans in to Shera, not that anyone could hear them in the cacophony.  “Hojo.  Just saw him.  That arrogant little fucker doesn’t think anyone can touch him.  Made me realize – Cloud’s mother.  If she’s alive, and I think she is, then he’s keeping her here.  Right where he is, as leverage.”

Shera blinks.  “But, why?  Why would he need leverage against Cloud?”

Cid just grits his teeth.   _Not Cloud_ , he realizes.   _Me_.

* * *

 

For the last three days, Sephiroth has been being followed.

He knows it, of course.  He has not informed anyone, or tried to make a scene of it.  Instead, he simply waits, acknowledging the attack that is surely to come.  He knows who it is – and knows why they are doing it.  He cannot fault them, so he won’t interfere, so long as it does not impede his work.

The Highwind’s ship has been hovering outside of Shinra space for days, awaiting news of the activities in Midgar.  In the meantime, Sephiroth has been working tirelessly with his own network within Shinra to find and recover Jean Strife.  Clues and leads haven’t been plentiful.  Hojo always covered his tracks well, and the people willing to turn on him in Shinra are few.  Still, Sephiroth refuses to stop looking, especially since his skills are not currently needed elsewhere.

And so long as his follower does not interfere, he does not try to stop them.

It comes to a head after Cloud’s practice.  They’d chatted for a while, the four of them, before Sephiroth offered to give Cloud a few pointers one on one.  For a while, it was … nice.

“Oh god, don’t.”  Cloud, red to his ears, let his head hang.  Sephiroth stops mid movement.

“Have I done something wrong?”

“The whole ‘standing next to someone to position them’, thing?  It’s a blatant flirt.”  Cloud, who is standing in a sword stance which Sephiroth was about to adjust by approaching his back, turns and shakes his head.  “My heart can’t take it.”

Sephiroth rolls his eyes and approaches anyway.  Cloud is stiff as a board, but malleable as Sephiroth adjusts his foot position, his shoulders, and his hands.  “Feel better?”

“No, and yes,” Cloud’s face is steaming.  “Do you ever listen to anyone?”

“When it matters.”  He can’t help himself – he’s smirking.  And perhaps, he realizes, flirting.  He’s not sure.  He’s never tried to flirt with anyone before.

That is, of course, when his follower attacks.

  
Cloud never noticed her in the room.  At her anguished shriek, he jumps, swirling to face her, but not soon enough.  She descends from behind them both, aiming her enormous shuriken perfectly at the base of Sephiroth’s neck.  On anyone else it would be a killing blow.  For him, it will simply be enormously painful.  He’s suffered worse. 

The ninja descends, and he turns and regrets it immediately, as he can now perfectly see the tears in her eyes.  He does not lift his arms, does not defend himself.

The strike never hits him.

The girl’s momentum ceases almost as soon as it began, though not violently.  A shadow appears between them which takes even Sephiroth off guard.  He always knew when he was being followed, and when others were in the room.  He has never been taken so by surprise. 

The red cloaked figure grabs the girl’s arm in one hand, and wraps the other arm around her shoulders, taking tight hold as he adjusts their flight pattern.  They both land harmlessly to the left of the men, the girl shrieking and kicking in Vincent’s grasp.

The man, unperturbed, stands, and turns with her in his grasp.  His eyes are bright red when they met Sephiroth’s, and the silverette feels something strange, something he’s never felt in this context.  He’s not sure how to even describe it.

“You did not move.”

Sephiroth blinks.  “… no.”

The red eyes flash.  “That would have been a killing blow.”

“I have survived near decapitation before.”  Sephiroth insists, watching as the color drains from Cloud’s face in the corner of his gaze.  His heart is pounding now.  Why?  Why is he nervous?

“What purpose could you possibly have,” Vincent’s voice, angry and tremulous, continues.  “To allow yourself to engage this danger, and hope that you could survive it a second time?”

In the face of this scene, and the strange things churning in his gut, Sephiroth finds himself saying the truth.  “I deserve it.”

The girl in Vincent’s arms slows to a halt.  Her red rimmed eyes glare at him, but she’s still.  He forces himself to met her gaze – and then he bows, so low his hair brushes the floor.

“I am guilty of the destruction of her country, and the murder of her mother.  I deserve – “

A fierce growl interrupts him, followed by an indignant squawk, and then suddenly Sephiroth finds himself dragged upward by his shoulders.  “You are no more guilty for what happened then, than my gun is guilty for my actions.” He pulls the enormous shotgun from its holster.  “It is a weapon – I am the wielder.  And you, from your first steps, were made into Shinra’s tool.  They pulled the trigger – and had you tried to disobey or fight them off, they would have found another weapon.”

“Shut up!”  Behind them, the girl is standing, having been tossed aside.  “H – He killed my mom!  He’s a murderer!”

Vincent turns his head, but he does not step away, or release Sephiroth.  “You have every right to be angry.  But you do not know the whole story.”  His gaze turns to Cloud, who nods, and takes Yuffie by the shoulders, leading her from the room as her anger turns into shaking shoulders and sniffles.

She’s hardly out the door before Vincent turns back to Sephiroth.  “Live with your sins – do not martyr yourself for them.  There’s nothing to be gained from it.”

The man’s hands area still on his shoulders.  He feels – small.  Chastised.  Which he doesn’t understand – he never cared much before when Hojo corrected him, or anyone told him how to behave.  He knew what he understood to be the correct method, or the proper action to take, and few really would stand against him.  Even Hojo, once he reached a certain age, rarely told him how to act other than to critique his choice of ‘friends’. 

“You have been following me.”  The pieces fit together quickly.  “I did not sense you – I presumed the girl was the only one.”  Vincent gives a slow nod.  Sephiroth files away the information as pertinent, but he just does not understand this, in addition to everything else.

Vincent’s hands finally fall away and it takes all Sephiroth has not to reach for him.  If one gloved hand twitches, he won’t say.  The man slips away as mysteriously as he came, leaving Sephiroth with a thousand questions and no one to ask.

 

* * *

 

The next day is chaos.  Everyone in Shinra has to talk to him – reinstatement takes hours, signing all the forms and obtaining identification, key cards, even a new white lab coat which goes right in the garbage.  By the time they’re done for the day, it’s 2 am, and he’s beat.  Still, Cid knows he can’t sleep.

There’s too much at stake for rest right now.

Cid’s never been much of a sneaky guy.  He’s up front, in your face, and he lets you know exactly what he thinks.  That’s how he is.  And right now, he’s feeling like that is exactly what he needs to do.  He wants to know what Hojo’s stance is, and there’s only one way to find out.

He heads out, nods at the guards outside his door, and heads for the elevator.  Luckily, in spite of all the years, most things haven’t changed.  Hojo’s lab is in the same place it always was, and when Cid arrives, he doesn’t even have to knock on the door.

It opens, and reveals Hojo inside, bent awkwardly over a computer and a lab station muttering to himself.  For a minute, Cid’s sure the man doesn’t even know he’s not alone.

“… but who could have started the reset… it would seem to be someone from Nibelheim but those candidates did not pass examination… perhaps… someone in the company… hardly matters… I will set the timeline to rights…”

“Yo, Professor.”

Cid knocks on the wall, announcing his presence.  The man’s back straightens.

“Ah, yes.  Captain,” His glasses flare as he turns.  It churns Cid’s gut.  There’s something about the man’s gaze that is just predatory.  Inhuman.  “What have I done to deserve this pleasure?”

“Just wanted to set things straight.”  Cid steps forward, hands in his pockets.  The key to keeping your cool was to make sure it looked as if you weren’t afraid.  Cid strives to look unafraid.  On some level, he knows he should be frightened, because this is a dangerous man that has Jean hostage – but Cid can’t quite manage it.  He’s just such a greasy, terrible little man, like a human cockroach.

“Is that so?”  The man smiles.  “And what, exactly, are we setting straight?”

“The presidency.”  Cid starts.  “I can’t imagine you’d want all that extra work and responsibilities.  It’d just get in the way of yer research, wouldn’t it.”

“Perhaps,” Hojo crosses his arms.  “In recent days, I have considered the possibility it may advance my research exponentially.”

Cid hides his disappointed reaction.  He was afraid this might all be tied into some big game of the man’s.  “That so.  Anything I can do to make you feel otherwise?"

“No,” He says firmly.  Then, a hand goes to his computer.  “But perhaps I can make you feel otherwise.”

Bingo.  There it is.  The screen flashes, and he sees a bedroom, a woman sitting at a table, looking furious, and frustrated as hell.  He almost laughs.  That’s Jean as angry as he’s ever seen her.  At the same time, relief floods him – she’s alive.  And she looks well, for all the fury in her face.  The screen vanishes.

“Do we understand one another?”

Cid smirks.  “Crystal, doctor.”  He bows, turns on his heel, and storms from the room.

* * *

 

Cloud stares at the ceiling of his room and tries very hard not to cry. 

He’s not even particularly sad, right now.  Or not especially sad compared to most days.  He’s tired, sore, overwhelmed, and apparently whenever he’s alone his eyes just well up uncontrollably.  It’s gross.  His throat is constantly sore and his eyes burn and he’s tired of looking like a screwed up teenager whenever he looks in the mirror.

He’s just tired.

It’s been a while since he had a decent night’s sleep, and since the events in the lab, they’ve always been full of nightmares.  At this point he’d rather never sleep, but he’s pretty sure some people on the ship wouldn’t take kindly to that, so he just lays in his room at night until exhaustion drags him under.

Tonight though, he’s restless.  After everything that happened that day, training with Sephiroth, the confrontation between him and Vincent – seeing Yuffie coming and knowing he wasn’t fast enough and thinking he was about to watch the man die – he can’t sit still.  So he jumps out of bed, slips on the baggy Shinra issued pants and boots, and a white tank, and walks into the hall.

It’s bright, like it always is on airships, and loud.  You’d never know it was nighttime unless you walked outside.  That’s where Cloud heads, hands in his pockets, trying to avoid people’s eyes.

He manages to get halfway to the deck when he hears voices.

“It’s too risky.”

Hearing Cid’s voice halts his feet.  Is there new info from Midgar?  He glances around the corner towards the open door of a nearby room.  It’s not one of the command centers, it’s just a bedroom, and sitting at the desk in front of a terminal is Vincent.

“Leaving her with him is not an option.”

“Runnin’ headlong into a trap isn’t one either!”

Her.  Cloud’s heart stops in his chest.  He barely manages to keep from stumbling against the wall.

“We both know what that man is capable of.  Allowing him to hold her hostage in the beliefs that complying will lead to her safety is foolish.  Even if it did, allowing him anything he wants is a dangerous mistake.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know that!”  Sighing, Cid runs a hand through unkempt hair.  He looks like he hasn’t slept in days.  “But this doesn’t feel right.  He’s plannin’ something, and I don’t want us walking right into it like a bunch of idiots!”

The arguing continues a while, until they finally say their terse goodnights, and the light fades.  Cloud stands in stark silence.

“You’re going after her.” 

He steps into the doorframe, fists clenched at his sides.  “You are, aren’t you?  I’m going, too.”

Vincent, already sighing, turns to him.  “It is a risky venture.”  But he doesn’t disagree.  “You’ve seen what the man can do.  I would not fault you for hesitating to return to his lab.”

The thought does send horrifying feelings through him, shivers he can’t suppress.  But the stronger emotion that surges through him is anger – the thought that his mother is there, with that man, infuriates him.

Vincent sees it plain on his face.  He nods.  “We leave now.  Grab your things.”

 

* * *

 

It’s late, and Sephiroth finds himself restless. 

He can’t stop repeating the events of the afternoon in his head.  Simultaneously, with a mind made keen by years of study and with thought he usually puts into military decisions, he examines all the behaviors and actions of Vincent Valentine.  He picks apart the inconsistences, the oddities.  Because this is a man who, from Sephiroth’s experience, appears to have some familial behaviors and feelings yet does not want to accept Sephiroth as his son?

He doesn’t understand.

Standing on the deck, arms crossed, his hair flaring in the wind, Sephiroth contemplates.  He just cannot make it make sense in his head.  Vincent protects him.  Defends him.  Watches out for him.  Says and does things no one else ever has.  The man bought him a gift, when he wasn’t even born yet.

_You cannot be._

Why can’t they be related, when it seems even Vincent behaves as if it were so?

Behind all these thoughts there’s a terrible, pounding headache.  It’s been getting worse, the closer they got to Midgar, though not quite as bad as when they were in Nibelheim, when he fought Cloud.  He only has vague memories of that day, of agony, and a loud voice… then silence.

Sometimes, he still hears it.  And it terrifies him.

“Sephiroth?”

He turns; Aerith stands in the doorway, hesitating.  “Can I join you?”

“Of course.”

She smiles brightly, and he is confused yet again.  He cannot understand why the girl seems to enjoy and even seek out his company.  Yes, he is the commander – and friend? – of her lover, but surely her relationship with Zack does not mean that she has to be kind to him?  Or perhaps there is a social formality that requires lovers to befriend their lover’s friends? 

  
There’s no possible way it is because the girl likes him.

“That’s a really serious face." 

Sephiroth cocks an eyebrow.  She giggles at him, and gestures at her own brow.  “You’re all grumpy looking.  Your forehead is one big wrinkle.”  Confused, he must apparently frown more, which causes her to laugh more.

“Are you not tired?”

She shakes her head.  “No,” Something vulnerable shows for a moment.  He remembers, suddenly, that this woman has seen the inside of Hojo’s lab as well.  “Just can’t turn off my mind.”

He knows the feeling.

They stand together quietly for a moment, the wind the only sound.  “I think…”  The girl says suddenly.  “I think Cloud is leaving.”

Stunned, Sephiroth turns.  The girl looks serious.  “He’s been really upset lately.  About his mom.  I think… I think he’s gonna go after her.”  Then, she turns to him, eyes heavy.  “And I don’t think he should go alone.”

For a moment the implication is lost on him.  “You… believe I should go as well?”

“Not just you.”  She crosses her arms.  “I can handle myself too, you know.”  The indignant look on her face almost makes him laugh.  She must see the quirk in his lips, because she pouts at him playfully.  “We’re his friends.  We have to help him.  Since Zack can’t go, I have to go.  I don’t want to let anyone else get hurt.”

“And what about you?”  Sephiroth sighs.  “You are a civilian, mostly untrained, and this man knows who you are and wants you desperately.  What if you are the one who is hurt?”

For a moment she looks terrified.  But she smiles.  That bright beam turns on him and he feels his chest tighten.  “I’ll be okay.  I’ll have my bodyguard!”  She elbows him, and it occurs to Sephiroth that she means  _him_.

That she trusts him with her life. 

“I…”  She’s smiling.  And he finds himself remembering this afternoon, remembering Yuffie… remembering Wutai.  “I am not a good person.  … So many have died, because of me…”

“Hey.”  She leans into his line of sight again.  “Dilly dally, shilly shally!”  She say it like it means something, but Sephiroth has no idea what.  “You’re one of the good guys now!  And Cloud needs us.  So, let’s go after him.  Don’t worry about me!  You’re the world’s best swordsman, right?”  Aerith smiles, and he feels warm, and better than he has in a while. 

“I’ll be safe, as long as you’re around.”

 


End file.
